Meet Mr. Mulliner

\

MEET MR. MULLINER

WHAT THIS STORY IS ABOUT

This book provides laughter, laughter all
the way. ]\Ieet Mr. Mulliner and the spirits
soa r upwards. He relates some truly remark-
able adventures. He is blessed, too, with
a bevy of priceless relatives who keep the
ball of fun rolling in no uncertain fashion.
There is nephew Lancelot, cousin Clarence,
the bulb-squeezer or photographer, nephew
George, cursed with a terrible stammer,
and brother Wilfred who was clean bowled
over by Miss Angela Purdue. In this bright
company no one can fail to be amused.

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

CARRY ON, JEEVES ..

LEAVE IT TO PSMITH

UKKIDGE

THE INIMITABLE JEEVES

THE GIRL ON THE BOAT

JILL THE RECKLESS ..

A DAMSEL IN DISTRESS

LOVE AMONG THE CHICKENS

A GENTLEMAN OF LEISURE

INDISCRETIONS OF ARCHIE

PICCADILLY JIM

THE ADVENTURES OF SALLY

THE CLICKING OF CUTHBERT

THE COMING OF BILL

THE HEART OF A GOOF

3S.
2S.
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23.
2S.
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28.
2S.
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2S.

6d. net.
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6d. net.

MEET
MR. MULLINER

BY
P. G. WODEHOUSE

HERBERT JENKINS LIMITED
3 YORK STREET ST. JAMES'S
LONDON S.W.I « © ^

'g 30,000 copies

Printed in Great Britain hy
Willi am Clowes and Sons, Limited, London and Beccles.

TO THE

EARL OF OXFORD AND ASQUITH

CONTENTS

I. The Truth about George
II. A Slice of Life
III. Mulliner's Buck-u-Uppo
IV. The Bishop's Move
V. Came the Dawn
VI . The Story of William
VII. Portrait of a Disciplinarian
VIII. The Romance of a Bulb-Squeezer
IX. Honeysuckle Cottage

7

39
68

102

170

201

266

MEET MR. MULLINER

THE TRUTH ABOUT GEORGE

TWO men were sitting in the bar-parlour
of the Angler's Rest as I entered it ;
and one of them, I gathered from
his low, excited voice and wide gestures, was
telling the other a story. I could hear
nothing but an occasional " Biggest I ever saw
in my Hfe ! " and " Fully as large as that ! "
but in such a place it was not difficult to
imagine the rest ; and when the second man,
catching my eye, winked at me with a sort
of humorous misery, I smiled sympathetic-
ally back at him.

The action had the effect of estabUshing
a bond between us ; and when the story-
teller finished his tale and left, he came over
to my table as if answering a formal invitation.

7 A 2

8 MEET MR. MULLINER

" Dreadful liars some men are," he said
genially.

** Fishermen," I suggested, " are tradition-
ally careless of the truth."

" He wasn't a fisherman," said my com-
panion. " That was our local doctor. He
was telhng me about his latest case of dropsy.
Besides "—he tapped me earnestly on the
knee — " you must not fall into the popular
error about fishermen. Tradition has ma-
hgned them. I am a fisherman myself, and
I have never told a lie in my life."

I could well believe it. He was a short,
stout, comfortable man of middle age, and
the thing that struck me first about liim was
the extraordinarily childhke candour of his
eyes. They were large and round and
honest. I would have bought oil stock from
him without a tremor.

The door leading into the white dusty
road opened, and a small man with rimless
pince-nez and an anxious expression shot in
like a rabbit and had consumed a gin and
ginger-beer almost before we knew he was
there. Having thus refreshed himself, he
stood looking at us, seemingly ill at ease.

" N-n-n-n-n-n " he said.

THE TRUTH ABOUT GEORGE 9

We looked at him inquiringly.

" N-n-n-n-n-n-ice d-d-d-d "

His nerve appeared to fail him, and he
vanished as abruptly as he had come.

" I think he was leading up to telling us
that it was a nice day," hazarded my com-
panion.

" It must be very embarrassing," I said,
"for a man with such a painful impediment
in his speech to open conversation with
strangers."

" Probably trying to cure himself. Like
my nephew George. Have I ever told you
about my nephew George ? "

I reininded him that we had only just
met, and that this was the first time I had
learned that he had a nephew George.

" Young George Mulliner. My name is
Mulhner. I will tell you about George's case
— in many ways a rather remarkable one."

My nephew George (said Mr. Mulhner)
was as nice a young fellow as you would ever
wish to meet, but from childhood up he had
been cursed with a terrible stammer. If he
had had to earn his Uving, he would un-
doubtedly have found this affliction a great

10 MEET MR. MULLINER

handicap, but fortunately his father had left
him a comfortable income ; and George spent
a not unhappy hfe, residing in the village
where he had been bom and passing his days
in the usual country sports and his evenings
in doing cross-word puzzles. By the time he
was thirty he knew more about Eli, the
prophet, Ra, the Sun God, and the bird Emu
than anybody else in the county except Susan
Blake, the vicar's daughter, who had also
taken up the solving of cross-word puzzles
and was the first girl in Worcestershire to
find out the meaning of " stearine " and
" crepuscular."

It was his association with Miss Blake
that first turned George's thoughts to a
serious endeavour to cure himself of his
stammer. Naturally, with this hobby in
common, the young people saw a great deal
of one another : for George was always
looking in at the vicarage to ask her if she
knew a word of seven letters meaning
" appertaining to the profession of plumbing,"
and Susan was just as constant a caller at
George's cosy little cottage — being frequently
stumped, as girls will be, by words of eight
letters signifying " largely used in the manu-

THE TRUTH ABOUT GEORGE ii

facture of poppet-valves." The consequence
was that one evening, just after she had
helped him out of a tight place with the
word " disestabhshmentarianism," the boy
suddenly awoke to the truth and reahsed that
she was all the world to him — or, as he put
it to himself from force of habit, precious,
beloved, darling, much-loved, highly es-
teemed or valued.

And yet, every time he tried to tell her
so, he could get no farther than a sibilant
gurgle which was no more practical use than
a hiccup.

Something obviously had to be done, and
George went to London to see a speciaUst.

** Yes ? " said the specialist.

- I-I-I-I-I-I-I " said George.

" You were saying ? "

** Woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo "

" Sing it," said the specialist.

" S-s-s-s-s-s-s-s ? " said George,

puzzled.

The specialist explained. He was a
kindly man with moth-eaten whiskers and
an eye like a meditative cod-fish.

" Many people," he said, " who are
unable to articulate clearly in ordinary speech

12 MEET MR. MULLINER

find themselves lucid and bell-like when they
burst into song."

It seemed a good idea to George. He
thought for a moment ; then threw his head
back, shut his eyes, and let it go in a musical
baritone.

" I love a lassie, a bonny, bonny lassie,"
sang George. " She's as pure as the Hly in
the dell."

" No doubt," said the specialist, wincing
a little.

** She's as sweet as the heather, the bonny
purple heather — Susan, my Worcestershire
bluebell."

" Ah ! " said the specialist. '' Sounds a
nice girl. Is this she ? " he asked, adjusting
his glasses and peering at the photograph
which George had extracted from the interior
of the left side of his under- vest.

George nodded, and drew in breath.

" Yes, sir," he carolled, '' that's my baby.
No, sir, don't mean maybe. Yes, sir, that's
my baby now. And, by the way, by the
way, when I meet that preacher I shall say —
* Yes, sir. that's my ' "

" Quite," said the speciaHst, hurriedly.
He had a sensitive ear. " Quite, quite."

THE TRUTH ABOUT GEORGE 13

" If you knew Susie like I know Susie,"
George was beginning, but the other stopped
him.

" Quite. Exactly. I shouldn't wonder.
And now," said the speciahst, '' what pre-
cisely is the trouble ? No," he added,
hastily, as George inflated his lungs, " don't
sing it. Write the particulars on this piece
of paper."

George did so.

** H'm ! " said the specialist, examining
the screed. " You wish to woo, court, and
become betrothed, engaged, affianced to this
girl, but you find yourself unable, incapable,
incompetent, impotent, and powerless. Every
time you attempt it, your vocal cords fail,
fall short, are insufficient, wanting, deficient,
and go blooey."

George nodded.

" A not unusual case. I have had to deal
with this sort of thing before. The effect of
love on the vocal cords of even a normally
eloquent subject is frequently deleterious.
As regards the habitual stammerer, tests have
shown that in ninety-seven point five six
nine recurring of cases the divine passion
reduces him to a condition where he sounds

14 MEET MR. MULLINER

like a soda-water siphon trying to recite
Gunga Din. There is only one cure."

W-w-w-w-w ? " asked George.

I will tell you. Stammering," pro-
ceeded the specialist, putting the tips of his
fingers together and eyeing George benevo-
lently, " is mainly mental and is caused by
shyness, which is caused by the inferiority
complex, which in its turn is caused by sup-
pressed desires or introverted inhibitions or
something. The advice I give to all young
men who come in here behaving like soda-
water siphons is to go out and make a point
of speaking to at least three perfect strangers
every day. Engage these strangers in con-
versation, persevering no matter how price-
less a chump you may feel, and before many
weeks are out you will find that the little
daily dose has had its effect. Shyness will
wear off, and with it the stammer."

And, having requested the young man —
in a voice of the clearest timbre, free from
all trace of impediment — to hand over a fee
of five guineas, the specialist sent George out
into the world.

The more George thought about the advice

THE TRUTH ABOUT GEORGE 15

he had been given, the less he Hked it. He
shivered in the cab that took him to the
station to catch the train back to East
Wobsley. Like all shy young men, he had
never hitherto looked upon himself as shy —
preferring to attribute his distaste for the
society of his fellows to some subtle rareness
of soul. But now that the thing had been
put squarely up to him, he was compelled to
realise that in all essentials he was a perfect
rabbit. The thought of accosting perfect
strangers and forcing his conversation upon
them sickened him.

But no MuUiner has ever shirked an un-
pleasant duty. As he reached the platform
and strode along it to the train, his teeth
were set, his eyes shone with an almost
fanatical hght of determination, and he
intended before his journey was over to
conduct three heart-to-heart chats if he had
to sing every bar of them.

The compartment into which he had made
his way was empty at the moment, but just
before the train started a very large, fierce-
looking man got in. George would have
preferred somebody a httle less formidable
for his first subject, but he braced himself

i6 MEET MR. MULLINER

and bent forward. And, as he did so, the
man spoke.

" The wur-wur-wur-wur-weather," he said,
" sus-sus-seems to be ter-ter-taking a
tur-tur-tum for the ber-ber-better, der-
doesn't it ? "

George sank back as if he had been hit
between the eyes. The train had moved out
of the dimness of the station by now, and
the sun was shining brightly on the speaker,
illuminating his knobbly shoulders, his craggy
jaw, and, above all, the shockingly choleric
look in his eyes. To reply " Y-y-y-y-y-y-y-
yes " to such a man would obviously be
madness.

But to abstain from speech did not seem
to be much better as a policy. George's
silence appeared to arouse this man's worst
passions. His face had turned purple and
he glared painfully.

" I uk-uk-asked you a sus-sus-civil quk-
quk-quk," he said, irascibly. ''Are you
d-d-d-d-deaf ? "

All we Mulliners have been noted for our
presence of mind. To open his mouth, point
to his tonsils, and utter a strangled gurgle
was with George the work of a moment.

THE TRUTH ABOUT GEORGE ly

The tension relaxed. The man's annoy-
ance abated.

" D-d-d-dumb ? " he said, commiserat-
ingly. " I beg your p-p-p-p-pup. I t-t-trust
I have not caused you p-p-p-p-pup. It
m-must be tut-tut-tut-tut-tut not to be
able to sus-sus-speak fuf-fuf-fuf-fuf-fluently."
He then buried himself in his paper, and
George sank back in his corner, quivering in
every hmb.

To get to East Wobsley, as you doubtless
know, you have to change at Ippleton and
take the branch-line. By the time the train
reached this junction, George's composure
was somewhat restored. He deposited his
belongings in a compartment of the East
Wobsley train, which was waiting in a glued
manner on the other side of the platform, and,
finding that it would not start for some ten
minutes, decided to pass the time by strolUng
up and down in the pleasant air.

It was a lovely afternoon. The sun was
gilding the platform with its rays, and a
gentle breeze blew from the west. A httle
brook ran tinkhng at the side of the road ;
birds were singing in the hedgerows ; and

i8 MEET MR. MULLINER

through the trees could be discerned dimly
the noble fa9ade of the County Lunatic
Asylum. Soothed by his surroundings,
George began to feel so refreshed that he
regretted that in this wayside station there
was no one present whom he could engage
in talk.

It was at this momient that the distin-
guished-looking stranger entered the platform.

The new-comer was a man of imposing
physique, simply dressed in pyjamas, brown
boots, and a mackintosh. In his hand he
carried a top-hat, and into this he was dipping
his fingers, taking them out, and then waving
them in a curious manner to right and left.
He nodded so affably to George that the
latter, though a little surprised at the other's
costume, decided to speak. After all, he
reflected, clothes do not make the man, and,
judging from the other's smile, a warm heart
appeared to beat beneath that orange-and-
mauve striped pyjama jacket.

" N-n-n-n-nice weather," he said.

" Glad you like it," said the stranger.
" I ordered it specially."

George was a little puzzled by this remark,
but he persevered.

THE TRUTH ABOUT GEORGE 19

" M-might I ask wur-wur-what you are
dud-doing ? "

" Doing ? "

" With that her-her-her-her-hat ? "

" Oh, with this hat ? I see what you
mean. Just scattering largesse to the multi-
tude," repUed the stranger, dipping his
fingers once more and waving them with a
generous gesture. " Devil of a bore, but it's
expected of a man in my position. The fact
is," he said, linking his arm in George's and
speaking in a confidential undertone, " I'm
the Emperor of Abyssinia. That's my palace
over there," he said, pointing through the
trees. " Don't let it go any farther. It's not
supposed to be generally known."

It was with a rather sickly smile that
George now endeavoured to withdraw his
arm from that of his companion, but the
other would have none of this aloofness. He
seemed to be in complete agreement with
Shakespeare's dictum that a friend, when
found, should be grappled to you with hooks
of steel. He held George in a vice-like grip
and drew him into a recess of the platform.
He looked about him, and seemed satisfied.

" We are alone at last/' he said.

20 MEET MR. MULLINER

This fact had aheady impressed itself with
sickening clearness on the young man. There
are few spots in the civilised world more
deserted than the platform of a small country
station. The sun shone on the smooth
asphalt, on the gleaming rails, and on the
macliine which, in exchange for a penny
placed in the slot marked " Matches,"
would supply a package of wholesome
butter-scotch — but on nothing else.

What George could have done with at
the moment was a posse of poUce armed with
stout clubs, and there was not even a dog
in sight.

" I've been wanting to talk to you for
a long time," said the stranger, genially.

" Huh-huh-have you ? " said George.

" Yes. I want your opinion of human
sacrifices."

George said he didn't like them.

" Why not ? " asked the other, surprised.

George said it was hard to explain. He
just didn't.

" Well, I think you're wrong," said the
Emperor. " I know there's a school of
thought growing up that holds your views,
but I disapprove of it. I hate all this modem

THE TRUTH ABOUT GEORGE 21

advanced thought. Human sacrifices have
always been good enough for the Emperors
of Abyssinia, and they're good enough for
me. Kindly step in here, if you please."

He indicated the lamp-and-mop room,
at which they had now arrived. It was a
dark and sinister apartment, smelling strongly
of oil and porters, and was probably the last
place on earth in which George would have
wished to be closeted with a man of such
peculiar views. He shrank back.

" You go in first," he said.

" No larks," said the other, suspiciously.

" L-1-l-l-larks ? "

" Yes. No pushing a fellow in and
locking the door and squirting water at him
through the window. I've had that happen
to me before."

" Sus-certainly not."

" Right ! " said the Emperor. ** You're
a gentleman and I'm a gentleman. Both
gentlemen. Have you a knife, by the way ?
We shall need a knife."

" No. No knife."

" Ah, well," said the Emperor, '' then
we'll have to look about for something else.
No doubt we shall manage somehow."

22 MEET MR. MULLINER

And with the debonair manner which so
became liim, he scattered another handful of
largesse and walked into the lamp-room.

It was not the fact that he had given his
word as a gentleman that kept George from
locking the door. There is probably no
family on earth more nicely scrupulous as
regards keeping its promises than the
Mulliners, but I am compelled to admit
that, had George been able to find the key,
he would have locked that door without
hesitation. Not being able to find the key,
he had to be satisfied with banging it.
This done, he leaped back and raced away
down the platform. A confused noise with-
in seemed to indicate that the Emperor had
become involved with some lamps.

George made the best of the respite.
Covering the ground at a high rate of speed,
he flung himself into the train and took
refuge under the seat.

There he remained, quaking. At one
time he thought that his uncongenial ac-
quaintance had got upon his track, for the
door of the compartment opened and a cool
wind blew in upon him. Then, glancing
along the floor, he perceived feminine ankles.

THE TRUTH ABOUT GEORGE 23

The relief was enormous, but even in his
reUef George, who was the soul of modesty,
did not forget his manners. He closed his
eyes.

A voice spoke.

" Porter ! "

" Yes, ma'am ? "

" What was all that disturbance as I came
into the station ? "

" Patient escaped from the asylum,
ma'am.''

" Good gracious ! "

The voice would undoubtedly have spoken
further, but at this moment the train began
to move. There came the sound of a body
descending upon a cushioned seat, and some
little time later the rusthng of a paper. The
train gathered speed and jolted on.

George had never before travelled under
the seat of a railway-carriage ; and, though
he belonged to the younger generation, which
is supposed to be so avid of new experiences,
he had no desire to do so now. He decided
to emerge, and, if possible, to emerge with
the minimum of ostentation. Little as he
knew of women, he was aware that as a sex

24 MEET MR. MULLINER

they are apt to be startled by the sight of
men crawUng out from under the seats of
compartments. He began his manoeuvres by
poking out his head and surveying the
terrain.

All was well. The woman, in her seat
across the way, was engrossed in her paper.
Moving in a series of noiseless wriggles,
George extricated himself from his hiding-
place and, with a twist which would have
been impossible to a man not in the habit
of doing Swedish exercises daily before break-
fast, heaved himself into the corner seat.
The woman continued reading her paper.

The events of the past quarter of an hour
had tended rather to drive from George's
mind the mission which he had undertaken
on leaving the specialist's office. But now,
having leisure for reflection, he reahsed that,
if he meant to complete his first day of the
cure, he was allowing himself to run sadly
behind schedule. Speak to three strangers,
the speciahst had told him, and up to the
present he had spoken to only one. True,
this one had been a pretty considerable
stranger, and a less conscientious young
man than George Mulliner might have con-

THE TRUTH ABOUT GEORGE 25

sidered himself justified in chalking him up
on the score-board as one and a half or even
two. But George had the dogged, honest
MuUiner streak in him, and he refused to
quibble.

He nerved himself for action, and cleared

his throat.

*' Ah-h'rm ! " said George.

And, having opened the ball, he smiled
a winning smile and waited for his companion
to make the next move.

The move which his companion made
was in an upwards direction, and measured
from six to eight inches. She dropped her
paper and regarded George with a pale-
eyed horror. One pictures her a little in
the position of Robinson Crusoe when he
saw the footprint in the sand. She had
been convinced that she was completely
alone, and lo ! out of space a voice had
spoken to her. Her face worked, but she
made no remark.

George, on his side, was also feeling a
little ill at ease. Women always increased
his natural shyness. He never knew what
to say to them.

Then a happy thought struck him. He

26 MEET MR. MULLINER

had just glanced at his watch and found the
hour to be nearly four-thirty. Women, he
knew, loved a drop of tea at about this
time, and fortunately there was in his suit-
case a full thermos-flask.

" Pardon me, but I wonder if you would
care for a cup of tea ? " was what he wanted
to say, but, as so often happened with him
when in the presence of the opposite sex,
he could get no farther than a sort of sizzUng
sound like a cockroach calling to its young.

The woman continued to stare at him.
Her eyes were now about the size of regula-
tion standard golf-balls, and her breathing
suggested the last stages of asthma. And
it was at this point that George, struggling
for speech, had one of those inspirations
which frequently come to Mulliners. There
flashed into his mind what the specialist had
told him about singing. Say it with music —
that was the thing to do.

He delayed no longer.

" Tea for two and two for tea and me
for you and you for me "

He was shocked to observe his companion
turning Nile-green. He decided to make his
meaning clearer.

THE TRUTH ABOUT GEORGE 27

" I have a nice thermos. I have a full
thermos. Won't you share my thermos,
too ? When skies are grey and you feel you
are blue, tea sends the sun smiling through.
I have a nice thermos. I have a full thermos.
May I pour out some for you ? "

You will agree with me, I think, that no
invitation could have been more happily put,
but his companion was not responsive. With
one last agonised look at him, she closed her
eyes and sank back in her seat. Her hps
had now turned a curious grey-blue colour,
and they were moving feebly. She reminded
George, who, like myself, was a keen fisher-
man, of a newly-gaffed salmon.

George sat back in his corner, brooding.
Rack his brain as he might, he could think
of no topic which could be guaranteed to
interest, elevate, and amuse. He looked out
of the window with a sigh.

The train was now approaching the dear
old famihar East Wobsley country. He
began to recognise landmarks. A wave of
sentiment poured over George as he thought
of Susan, and he reached for the bag of buns
which he had bought at the refreshment room

28 MEET MR. MULLINER

at Ippleton. Sentiment always made him
hungry.

He took his thermos out of the suit-case,
and, unscrewing the top, poured himself out
a cup of tea. Then, placing the thermos
on the seat, he drank.

He looked across at his companion. Her
eyes were still closed, and she uttered little
sighing noises. George was half inclined to
renew his offer of tea, but the only tune he
could remember was " Hard-Hearted Hanna,
the Vamp from Savannah," and it was
difficult to fit suitable words to it. He ate
his bun and gazed out at the familiar scenery.
Now, as you approach East Wobsley, the
train, I must mention, has to pass over some
points ; and so violent is the sudden jerking
that strong men have been known to spill
their beer. George, forgetting this in his pre-
occupation, had placed the thermos only a
few inches from the edge of the seat. The
result was that, as the train reached the
points, the flask leaped like a live thing,
dived to the floor, and exploded.

Even George was distinctly upset by the
sudden sharpness of the report. His bun
sprang from his hand and was dashed to

THE TRUTH ABOUT GEORGE 29
fragments. He blinked thrice in rapid suc-
cession. His heart tried to jump out of his
mouth and loosened a front tooth.

But on the woman opposite the effect of
the untoward occurrence was still more
marked. With a single piercing shriek, she
rose from her seat straight into the air like
a rocketing pheasant ; and, having clutched
the communication-cord, fell back again.
Impressive as her previous leap had been,
she exceDed it now by several inches. I do
not know what the existing record for the
Sitting High- Jump is, but she undoubtedly
lowered it ; and if George had been a member
of the Olympic Games Selection Committee,
he would have signed this woman up im-
mediatelv.

It is a curious thing that, in spite of the
railway companies' sporting wiUingness to
let their patrons have a tug at the extremely
moderate price of five pounds a go, very few
people have ever either pulled a communica-
tion-cord or seen one pulled. There is, thus,
a widespread ignorance as to what precisely
happens on such occasions.

The procedure, George tells me. is as

30 MEET MR. MULLINER

follows : First there comes a grinding noise,
as the brakes are applied. Then the train
stops. And finally, from every point of the
compass, a seething mob of interested on-
lookers begins to appear.

It was about a mile and a half from East
Wobsley that the affair had taken place, and
as far as the eye could reach the country-
side was totally devoid of humanity. A
moment before nothing had been visible but
smiling cornfields and broad pasture-lands ;
but now from east, west, north, and south
running figures began to appear. We must
remember that George at the time was in a
somewhat overwrought frame of mind, and
his statements should therefore be accepted
with caution ; but he tells me that out of
the middle of a single empty meadow, entirely
devoid of cover, no fewer than twenty-seven
distinct rustics suddenly appeared, having
undoubtedly shot up through the ground.

The rails, which had been completely
unoccupied, were now thronged with so
dense a crowd of navvies that it seemed to
George absurd to pretend that there was any
unemployment in England. Every member
of the labouring classes throughout the

THE TRUTH ABOUT GEORGE 31

country was so palpably present. More-
over, the train, which at Ippleton had seemed
sparsely occupied, was disgorging passengers
from every door. It was the sort of mob-
scene which would have made David W.
Griffith scream with deHght ; and it looked,
George says, hke Guest Night at the Royal
Automobile Club. But, as I say, we must
remember that he was overwrought.

It is difficult to say what precisely would
have been the correct behaviour of your
polished man of the world in such a situation.
I think myself that a great deal of sang-froid
and address would be required even by the
most self-possessed in order to pass off such
a contretemps. To George, I may say at
once, the crisis revealed itself immediately
as one which he was totally incapable of
handling. The one clear thought that stood
out from the welter of his emotions was the
reflection that it was advisable to remove
himself, and to do so without delay. Draw-
ing a deep breath, he shot swiftly off the mark.

All we Mulliners have been athletes ; and
George, when at the University, had been
noted for his speed of foot. He ran now as

B

32 MEET MR. MULLINER

he had never run before. His statement,
however, that as he sprinted across the first
field he distinctly saw a rabbit shoot an
envious glance at him as he passed and shrug
its shoulders hopelessly, I am inchned to
discount. George, as I have said before,
was a little over-excited.

Nevertheless, it is not to be questioned
that he made good going. And he had need
to, for after the first instant of surprise, which
had enabled him to secure a lead, the whole
mob was pouring across country after him ;
and dimly, as he ran, he could hear voices
in the throng informally discussing the
advisability of lynching him. Moreover, the
field through which he was running, a moment
before a bare expanse of green, was now black
with figures, headed by a man with a beard
who carried a pitchfork. George swerved
sharply to the right, casting a swift glance
over his shoulder at his pursuers. He dis-
liked them all, but especially the man with
the pitchfork.

It is impossible for one who was not an
eye-witness to say how long the chase con-
tinued and how much ground was covered
by the interested parties. I know the East

THE TRUTH ABOUT GEORGE 33

Wobsley country well, and I have checked
George's statements ; and, if it is true that
he travelled east as far as Little- Wigmarsh-
in-the-Dell and as far west as Higgleford-
cum-Wortlebury-beneath-the-Hill, he must
undoubtedly have done a lot of running.

But a point which must not be forgotten
is that, to a man not in a condition to observe
closely, the village of Higgleford-cum-Wortle-
bury-beneath-the-Hill might easily not have
been Higglef ord - cum - Wortlebury - beneath-
the-Hill at all, but another hamlet which in
many respects closely resembles it. I need
scarcely say that I allude to Lesser-Snods-
bury-in-the-Vale.

Let us assume, therefore, that George,
having touched Little- Wigmarsh-in-the-Dell,
shot off at a tangent and reached Lesser-
Snodsbury-in-the-Vale. This would be a
considerable run. And, as he remembers
flitting past Farmer Higgins's pigsty and the
Dog and Duck at Pondlebury Parva and
splashing through the brook Wipple at the
point where it joins the River Wopple, we
can safely assume that, wherever else he
went, he got plenty of exercise.

But the pleasantest of functions must

34 MEET MR. MULLINER

end, and, just as the setting sun was gilding
the spire of the ivy-covered church of St.
Barnabas the Resihent, where George as a
child had sat so often, enhvening the tedium
of the sermon by making faces at the choir-
boys, a damp and bedraggled figure might
have been observed crawhng painfully along
the High Street of East Wobsley in the
direction of the cosy little cottage known to
its builder as Chatsworth and to the village
tradesmen as " MuUiner's.''

It was George, home from the hunting-
field.

Slowly George MuUiner made his way to
the famiUar door, and, passing through it,
flung himself into his favourite chair. But
a moment later a more imperious need than
the desire to rest forced itself upon his atten-
tion. Rising stiffly, he tottered to the
kitchen and mixed himself a revivifying
whisky-and-soda. Then, refilhng his glass,
he returned to the sitting-room, to find that
it was no longer empty. A slim, fair girl,
tastefully attired in tailor-made tweeds, was
leaning over the desk on which he kept his
Dictionary of English Synonyms.

THE TRUTH ABOUT GEORGE 35

She looked up as he entered, startled.

" Why, Mr. MulUner ! " she exclaimed.
" What has been happening ? Your clothes
are torn, rent, ragged, tattered, and your
hair is all dishevelled, untrimmed, hanging
loose or negligently, at loose ends ! "

George smiled a wan smile.

" You are right," he said. " And, what
is more, I am suffering from extreme fatigue,
weariness, lassitude, exhaustion, prostration,
and languor."

The girl gazed at him, a divine pity in her
soft eyes.

"I'm so sorry," she murmured. " So
very sorry, grieved, distressed, afflicted,
pained, mortified, dejected, and upset."

George took her hand. Her sweet sym-
pathy had effected the cure for which he had
been seeking so long. Coming on top of the
violent emotions through which he had been
passing all day, it seemed to work on him
like some healing spell, charm, or incanta-
tion. Suddenly, in a flash, he realised that
he was no longer a stammerer. Had he
wished at that moment to say, " Peter Piper
picked a peck of pickled peppers," he could
have done it without a second thought.

36 MEET MR. MULLINER

But he had better things to say than that.

" Miss Blake — Susan — Susie." He took
her other hand in his. His voice rang out
clear and unimpeded. It seemed to hira
incredible that he had ever yammered at
this girl like an overheated steam-radiator.
** It cannot have escaped your notice that
I have long entertained towards you senti-
ments warmer and deeper than those of
ordinary friendship. It is love, Susan, that
has been animating my bosom. Love, first
a tiny seed, has burgeoned in my heart till,
blazing into flame, it has swept away on the
crest of its wave my diffidence, my doubt,
my fears, and my foreboding, and now, like
the topmost topaz of some ancient tower, it
cries to all the world in a voice of thunder :
' You are mine ! My mate ! Predestined to
me since Time first began ! ' As the star
guides the mariner when, battered by boihng
billows, he hies him home to the haven of
hope and happiness, so do you gleam upon
me along life's rough road and seem to say,
* Have courage, George ! I am here ! '
Susan, I am not an eloquent man — I cannot
speak fluently as I could wish — but these
simple words which you have just heard

THE TRUTH ABOUT GEORGE 37
come from the heart, from the unspotted
heart of an EngHsh gentleman. Susan, I
love you. Will you be my wife, married
woman, matron, spouse, help-meet, consort,
partner or better half ? "

*' Oh, George ! " said Susan. " Yes, yea,
ay, aye ! Decidedly, unquestionably, in-
dubitably, incontrovertibly, and past all
dispute ! "

He folded her in his arms. And, as he
did so, there came from the street outside
— faintly, as from a distance — the sound of
feet and voices. George leaped to the
window. Rounding the comer, just by the
Cow and Wheelbarrow pubUc-house, licensed
to sell ales, wines, and spirits, was the man
with the pitchfork, and behind him followed
a vast crowd.

" My darhng," said George. " For purely
personal and private reasons, into which I
need not enter, I must now leave you. Will
you join me later ? "

" I will follow you to the ends of the
earth," replied Susan, passionately.

" It will not be necessary," said George.
** I am only going down to the coal-cellar.
I shall spend the next half-hour or so there.

38 MEET MR. MULLINER

If anybody calls and asks for me, perhaps
you would not mind telling them that I am
out."

" I will, I will," said Susan. " And,
George, by the way. What I really came
here for was to ask you if you knew a hyphe-
nated word of nine letters, ending in k and
signifying an implement employed in the
pursuit of agriculture."

" Pitch-fork, sweetheart," said George.
" But you may take it from me, as one who
knows, that agriculture isn't the only thing
it is used in pursuit of."

And since that day (concluded Mr.
Mulhner) George, believe me or beheve me
not, has not had the shghtest trace of an
impediment in his speech. He is now the
chosen orator at all political raUies for miles
around ; and so offensively self-confident has
his manner become that only last Friday he
had his eye blacked by a hay-corn-and-feed
merchant of the name of Stubbs. It just
shows you, doesn't it ?

II

A SLICE OF LIFE

THE conversation in the bar-parlour of
the Anglers' Rest had drifted round to
the subject of the Arts : and some-
body asked if that film-serial, " The Vicis-
situdes of Vera," which they were showing
down at the Bijou Dream, was worth seeing.

" It's very good," said Miss Postle-
thwaite, our courteous and efficient barmaid,
who is a prominent first-nighter. " It's
about this mad professor who gets this girl
into his toils and tries to turn her into a
lobster."

" Tries to turn her into a lobster ? "
echoed we, surprised.

" Yes, sir. Into a lobster. It seems he
collected thousands and thousands of lobsters
and mashed them up and boiled down the
juice from their glands and was just going to
inject it into this Vera Dalrymple's spinal

39 B 2

40 MEET MR. MULLINER

column when Jack Frobisher broke into the
house and stopped him."

" Why did he do that ? "

" Because he didn't want the girl he
loved to be turned into a lobster."

*' What we mean," said we, " is why did
the professor want to turn the girl into a
lobster?"

" He had a grudge against her."

This seemed plausible, and we thought
it over for a while. Then one of the com-
pany shook his head disapprovingly.

" I don't like stories like that," he said.
" They aren't true to hfe."

*' Pardon me, sir," said a voice. And
we were aware of Mr. Mulliner in our midst.

" Excuse me interrupting what may be
a private discussion," said Mr. Mulhner, " but
I chanced to overhear the recent remarks, and
you, sir, have opened up a subject on which
I happen to hold strong views — to wit, the
question of what is and what is not true to
hfe. How can we, with our hmited ex-
perience, answer that question ? For all we
know, at this very moment hundreds of
young women all over the country may be
in the process of being turned into lobsters

A SLICE OF LIFE 41

Forgive my warmth, but I have suffered a
good deal from this sceptical attitude of
mmd which is so prevalent nowadays. I
have even met people who refused to beUeve
my story about my brother Wilfred, purely
because it was a little out of the ordinary
run of the average man's experience."

Considerably moved, Mr. MulHner ordered
a hot Scotch with a slice of lemon.

** What happened to your brother Wil-
fred ? Was he turned into a lobster ? "

" No," said Mr. Mulhner, fixing his honest
blue eyes on the speaker, " he was not. It
would be perfectly easy for me to pretend
that he was turned into a lobster ; but I have
always made it a practice — and I always shall
make it a practice — to speak nothing but
the bare truth. My brother Wilfred simply
had rather a curious adventure."

My brother Wilfred (said Mr. Mulhner)
is the clever one of the family. Even as a
boy he was always messing about with
chemicals, and at the University he devoted
his time entirely to research. The result
was that while still quite a young man he
had won an established reputation as the

42 MEET MR. MULLINER

inventor of what are known to the trade as
MuUiner's Magic Marvels — a general term
embracing the Raven Gipsy Face-Cream, the
Snow of the Mountains Lotion, and many
other preparations, some designed exclusively
for the toilet, others of a curative nature,
intended to alleviate the many ills to which
the flesh is heir.

Naturally, he was a very busy man : and
it is to this absorption in his work that I
attribute the fact that, though — hke all the
MuUiners — a man of striking personal charm,
he had reached his thirty-first year without
ever having been involved in an affair of the
heart. I remember him telUng me once that
he simply had no time for girls.

But we all fall sooner or later, and these
strong concentrated men harder than any.
While taking a brief holiday one year at
Cannes, he met a Miss Angela Purdue, who
was staying at his hotel, and she bowled him
over completely.

She was one of these jolly, outdoor girls ;
and Wilfred had told me that what attracted
him first about her was her wholesome,
sunburned complexion. In fact, he told
Miss Purdue the same thing when, shortly

A SLICE OF LIFE 43

after he had proposed and been accepted, she
asked him in her girUsh way what it was that
had first made him begin to love her.

" It's such a pity," said Miss Purdue,
" that the sunburn fades so soon. I do wish
I knew some way of keeping it."

Even in his moments of hohest emotion
Wilfred never forgot that he was a business
man.

" You should try Mulliner's Raven Gipsy
Face-Cream," he said. " It comes in two
sizes — the small (or half-crown) jar and the
large jar at seven shillings and sixpence.
The large jar contains three and a half times
as much as the small jar. It is applied
nightly with a small sponge before retiring
to rest. Testimonials have been received
from numerous members of the aristocracy
and may be examined at the office by any
bona-fide inquirer."

" Is it really good ? "

" I invented it," said Wilfred, simply.

She looked at him adoringly.

" How clever you are ! Any girl ought
to be proud to marry you."

" Oh, well," said Wilfred, with a modest
wave of his hand.

44 MEET MR. MULLINER

" All the same, my guardian is going to
be terribly angry when I tell him we're
engaged."

" Why ? "

" I inherited the Purdue millions when
my uncle died, you see, and my guardian
has always wanted me to marry his son,
Percy."

Wilfred kissed her fondly, and laughed a
defiant laugh.

" Jer mong feesh der selar," he said
lightly.

But, some days after his return to London,
whither the girl had preceded him, he had
occasion to recall her words. As he sat in
his study, musing on a preparation to cure
the pip in canaries, a card was brought to
him.

" Sir Jasper ffinch-ffarrowmere, Bart.,"
he read. The name was strange to him.

" Show the gentleman in," he said. And
presently there entered a very stout man with
a broad, pink face. It was a face whose
natural expression should, Wilfred felt, have
been jovial, but at the moment it was grave.

" Sir Jasper Finch-Farrowmere ? " said
Wilfred.

A SLICE OF LIFE 45

" ffinch - ffarrowmere," corrected the

visitor, his sensitive ear detecting the capital

letters.

''Ah yes. You spell it with two small

f's."

" Four small f's."

" And to what do I owe the honour "

" I am Angela Purdue's guardian."
'' How do you do ? A whisky-and-
soda ? "

" I thank you, no. I am a total abstainer.
I found that alcohol had a tendency to
increase my weight, so I gave it up. I have
also given up butter, potatoes, soups of all

kinds and However," he broke off, the

fanatic gleam which comes into the eyes of
all fat men who are describing their system of
diet fading away, " this is not a social call,
and I must not take up your time v/ith idle
talk. I have a message for you, Mr. MulUner.
From Angela."

" Bless her ! " said Wilfred. *' Sir Jasper,
I love that girl with a fervour which increases

daily."

" Is that so ? " said the baronet. '' Well,
what I came to say was, it's all off."

" What ? "

46 MEET MR. MULLINER

" All off. She sent me to say that she
had thought it over and wanted to break the
engagement."

Wilfred's eyes narrowed. He had not
forgotten what Angela had said about this
man wanting her to marry his son. He
gazed piercingly at liis visitor, no longer
deceived by the superficial geniahty of his
appearance. He had read too many detective
stories where the fat, jolly, red-faced man
turns out a fiend in human shape to be a
ready victim to appearances.

" Indeed ? " he said, coldly. " I should
prefer to have this information from Miss
Purdue's own hps."

" She won't see you. But, anticipating
this attitude on your part, I brought a letter
from her. You recognise the writing ? "

Wilfred took the letter. Certainly, the
hand was Angela's, and the meaning of the
words he read unmistakable. Nevertheless,
as he handed the missive back, there was a
hard smile on his face.

" There is such a thing as writing a
letter under compulsion," he said.

The baronet's pink face turned mauve.

" What do you mean, sir ? "

A SLICE OF LIFE 47

•' What I say."

" Are you insinuating "

" Yes, I am."

" Pooh, sir ! "

" Pooh to you ! " said Wilfred. " And,
if you want to know what I think, you poor
f&sh, I believe your name is spelled with a
capital F, hke anybody else's."

Stung to the quick, the baronet turned
on his heel and left the room without another
word.

Although he had given up his hfe to
chemical research, Wilfred MuUiner was no
mere dreamer. He could be the man of
action when necessity demanded. Scarcely
had his visitor left when he was on his way
to the Senior Test-Tubes, the famous
chemists' club in St. James's. There, con-
sulting Kelly's " County FamiUes," he learnt
that Sir Jasper's address was fQnch Hall in
Yorkshire. He had found out all he wanted
to know. It was at ffinch Hall, he decided,
that Angela must now be immured.

For that she was being immured some-
where he had no doubt. That letter, he was
positive, had been written by her under stress
of threats. The writing was Angela's, but

48 MEET MR. MULLINER

he declined to believe that she was responsible
for the phraseology and sentiments. He
remembered reading a story where the heroine
was forced into courses which she would not
otherwise have contemplated by the fact
that somebody was standing over her with
a flask of vitriol. Possibly this was what
that bounder of a baronet had done to
Angela.

Considering this possibiUty, he did not
blame her for what she had said about him,
Wilfred, in the second paragraph of her note.
Nor did he reproach her for signing herself
" Yrs truly, A. Purdue." Naturally, when
baronets are threatening to pour vitriol down
her neck, a refined and sensitive young girl
cannot pick her words. This sort of thing
must of necessity interfere with the selection
of the mot piste.

That afternoon, Wilfred was in a train
on his way to Yorkshire. That evening, he
was in the ffinch Arms in the village of which
Sir Jasper was the squire. That night, he
was in the gardens of ffinch Hall, prowling
softly round the house, listening.

And presently, as he prowled, there came
to his ears from an upper window a sound

A SLICE OF LIFE 49

that made him stiffen hke a statue and
clench his hands till the knuckles stood out
white under the strain.

It was the sound of a woman sobbing.

Wilfred spent a sleepless night, but by
morning he had formed his plan of action.
I will not weary you with a description of
the slow and tedious steps by which he first
made the acquaintance of Sir Jasper's valet,
who was an habitue of the village inn, and
then by careful stages won the man's con-
fidence with friendly words and beer. Suffice
it to say that, about a week later, Wilfred
had induced this man with bribes to leave
suddenly on the plea of an aunt's illness,
supplying — so as to cause his employer no
inconvenience — a cousin to take his place.

This cousin, as you will have guessed,
was Wilfred himself. But a very different
Wilfred from the dark-haired, clean-cut young
scientist who had revolutionised the world
of chemistry a few months before by proving
that H20+b3g4z7-m9z8=g6f5p3x. Before
leaving London on what he knew would be
a dark and dangerous enterprise, Wilfred had
taken the precaution of calhng in at a well-

50 MEET MR. MULLINER

known costumier's and buying a red wig.
He had also purchased a pair of blue
spectacles : but for the role which he had
now undertaken these were, of course, use-
less. A blue-spectacled valet could not but
have aroused suspicion in the most guileless
baronet. All that Wilfred did, therefore, in
the way of preparation, was to don the wdg,
shave off his moustache, and treat his face
to a hght coating of the Raven Gipsy Face-
Cream. This done, he set out for fhnch Hall.

Externally, fhnch Hall was one of those
gloomy, sombre country-houses which seem
to exist only for the purpose of having
horrid crimes committed in them. Even in
his brief visit to the grounds, Wilfred had
noticed fully half a dozen places which
seemed incomplete without a cross indicating
spot where body was found by the pohce.
It was the sort of house where ravens croak
in the front garden just before the death of
the heir, and shrieks ring out from behind
barred windows in the night.

Nor was its interior more cheerful. And,
as for the personnel of the domestic staff,
that was less exhilarating than anything else
about the place. It consisted of an aged

A SLICE OF LIFE 51

cook who, as she bent over her cauldrons,
looked Uke something out of a travelhng
company of " Macbeth," touring the smaller
towns of the North, and Murgatroyd, the
butler, a huge, sinister man with a cast in
one e5/e and an evil light in the other.

Many men, under these conditions, would
have been daunted. But not Wilfred Mul-
liner. Apart from the fact that, hke all the
MuUiners, he was as brave as a Hon, he had
come expecting something of this nature. He
settled down to his duties and kept his eyes
open, and before long his vigilance was
rewarded.

One day, as he lurked about the dim-lit
passage-ways, he saw Sir Jasper coming up
the stairs with a laden tray in his hands. It
contained a toast-rack, a half bot. of white
wine, pepper, salt, veg., and in a covered
dish something which Wilfred, sniffing
cautiously, decided was a cutlet.

Lurking in the shadows, he followed the
baronet to the top of the house. Sir Jasper
paused at a door on the second floor. He
knocked. The door opened, a hand was
stretched forth, the tray vanished, the door
closed, and the baronet moved away.

52 MEET MR. MULLINER

So did Wilfred. He had seen what he
had wanted to see, discovered what he had
wanted to discover. He returned to the
servants' hall, and under the gloomy eyes of
Murgatroyd began to shape his plans.

" Where you been ? " demanded the
butler, suspiciously.

" Oh, hither and thither," said Wilfred,
with a well-assumed airiness.

Murgatroyd directed a menacing glance
at him.

" You'd better stay where you belong," he
said, in his thick, growhng voice. ** There's
things in this house that don't want seeing."
** Ah ! " agreed the cook, dropping an
onion in the cauldron.

Wilfred could not repress a shudder.
But, even as he shuddered, he was con-
scious of a certain reUef. At least, he
reflected, they were not starving his darling.
That cutlet had smelt uncommonly good:
and, if the bill of fare was always maintained
at this level, she had nothing to complain
of in the catering.

But his relief was short-lived. What,
after all, he asked himself, are cutlets to a
girl who is imprisoned in a locked room of

A SLICE OF LIFE 53

a sinister country-house and is being forced
to marry a man she does not love ? Practi-
cally nothing. When the heart is sick, cutlets
merely alleviate, they do not cure. Fiercely
Wilfred told himself that, come what might,
few days should pass before he found the
key to that locked door and bore away his
love to freedom and happiness.

The only obstacle in the way of this
scheme was that it was plainly going to be
a matter of the greatest difficulty to find the
key. That night, when his employer dined,
Wilfred searched his room thoroughly. He
found nothing. The key, he was forced to
conclude, was kept on the baronet's person.

Then how to secure it ?

It is not too much to say that Wilfred
MuUiner was non-plussed. The brain which
had electrified the world of Science by dis-
covering that if you mixed a stifiish oxygen
and potassium and added a splash of tri-
nitrotoluol and a spot of old brandy you got
something that could be sold in America as
champagne at a hundred and fifty dollars
the case, had to confess itself baffled.

To attempt to analyse the young man's

54 MEET MR. MULLINER

emotions, as the next week dragged itself by,
would be merely morbid. Life cannot, of
course, be all sunshine : and in relating a
story like this, which is a slice of life, one
must pay as much attention to shade as to
light : nevertheless, it would be tedious were
I to describe to you in detail the soul-torments
which afflicted Wilfred MuUiner as day fol-
lowed day and no solution to the problem
presented itself. You are all intelligent men,
and you can picture to yourselves how a
high-spirited young fellow, deeply in love,
must have felt ; knowing that the girl he
loved was languishing in what practically
amounted to a dungeon, though situated on
an upper floor, and chafing at his inabihty
to set her free.

His eyes became sunken. His cheek-
bones stood out. He lost weight. And so
noticeable was this change in his physique
that Sir Jasper fhnch-ffarrowmere commented
on it one evening in tones of unconcealed envy.

" How the devil, Straker," he said — for
this was the pseudonym under which Wilfred
was passing, " do you manage to keep so thin ?
Judging by the weekly books, you eat like
a starving Esquimaux, and yet you don't put

A SLICE OF LIFE 55

on weight. Now I, in addition to knocking
off butter and potatoes, have started drink-
ing hot unsweetened lemon -juice each night
before retiring : and yet, damme," he said
— for, like all baronets, he was careless in
his language, " I weighed myself this morn-
ing, and I was up another six ounces. What's
the explanation ? "

" Yes, Sir Jasper," said Wilfred, mechani-
cally.

" What the devil do you mean, Yes, Sir
Jasper ? "

" No, Sir Jasper."

The baronet wheezed plaintively.

" I've been studying this matter closely,'*
he said, *' and it's one of the seven wonders
of the world. Have you ever seen a fat
valet ? Of course not. Nor has anybody
else. There is no such thing as a fat valet.
And yet there is scarcely a moment during
the day when a valet is not eating. He
rises at six-thirty, and at seven is having
coffee and buttered toast. At eight, he
breakfasts off porridge, cream, eggs, bacon,
jam, bread, butter, more eggs, more bacon,
more jam, more tea, and more butter,
finishing up with a slice of cold ham and a

56 MEET MR. MULLINER

sardine. At eleven o'clock he has his
' elevenses,' consisting of coffee, cream, more
bread and more butter. At one, luncheon
—a hearty meal, replete with every form of
starchy food and lots of beer. If he can get
at the port, he has port. At three, a snack.
At four, another snack. At five, tea and
buttered toast. At seven — dinner, probably
with floury potatoes, and certainly with lots
more beer. At nine, another snack. And
at ten-thirty he retires to bed, taking with
him a glass of milk and a plate of biscuits to
keep himself from getting hungry in the night.
And yet he remains as slender as a string-
bean, while I, who have been dieting for
3^ears, tip the beam at two hundred and
seventeen pounds, and am growing a third
and supplementary chin. These are mys-
teries, Straker."

" Yes, Sir Jasper."

" WeU, I U tell you one thing," said the
baronet, " I'm getting down one of those
indoor Turkish Bath cabinet-affairs from
London ; and if that doesn't do the trick, I
give up the struggle."

The indoor Turkish Bath duly arrived and

A SLICE OF LIFE 57

was unpacked ; and it was some three nights
later that Wilfred, brooding in the servants'
hall, was aroused from his reverie by Mur-
gatroyd.

" Here," said Murgatroyd, " wake up.
Sir Jasper's caUing you."

'* CaUing me what ? " asked Wilfred,
coming to himself with a start.

** Calling you very loud," growled the
butler.

It was indeed so. From the upper regions
of the house there was proceeding a series
of sharp yelps, evidently those of a man in
mortal stress. Wilfred was reluctant to
interfere in any way if, as seemed probable,
his employer was dying in agony ; but he
was a conscientious man, and it was his duty,
while in this sinister house, to perform the
work for which he was paid. He hurried
up the stairs ; and, entering Sir Jasper's
bedroom, perceived the baronet's crimson
face protruding from the top of the indoor
Turkish Bath.

" So you've come at last ! " cried Sir
Jasper. " Look here, when you put me into
this infernal contrivance just now, what did
you do to the dashed thing ? "

58 MEET MR. MULLINER

" Nothing beyond what was indicated in
the printed pamphlet accompanying the
machine, Sir Jasper. Following the in-
structions, I slid Rod A into Groove B,
fastening with Catch C "

" Well, you must have made a mess of
it, somehow. The thing's stuck. I can't
get out."

" You can't ? " cried Wilfred.

" No. And the bally apparatus is getting
considerably hotter than the hinges of the
Inferno." I must apologise for Sir Jasper's
language, but you know what baronets are.
" I'm being cooked to a crisp."

A sudden flash of light seemed to blaze
upon Wilfred Mulhner.

** I will release you. Sir Jasper "

" Well, hurry up, then."

" On one condition." Wilfred fixed him
with a piercing gaze. " First, I must have
the key."

" There isn't a key, you idiot. It doesn't
lock. It just clicks when you sHde Gadget
D into Thingummybob E."

" The key I require is that of the room
in which you are holding Angela Purdue a
prisoner."

A SLICE OF LIFE 59

" What the devil do you mean ? Ouch ! "

" I will tell you what I mean, Sir Jasper
ffinch-ffarrowmere. I am Wilfred Mul-
liner ! "

'* Don't be an ass. Wilfred MulUner has
black hair. Yours is red. You must be
thinking of some one else."

"This is a wig," said Wilfred. "By
Clarkson." He shook a menacing finger at
the baronet. " You Httle thought, Sir Jasper
ffinch-ffarrowmere, when you embarked on
this dastardly scheme, that Wilfred Mulliner
was watching your every move. I guessed
your plans from the start. And now is the
moment when I checkmate them. Give me
that key, you Fiend."

" ffiend," corrected Sir Jasper, auto-
matically.

" I am going to release my darUng, to
take her away from this dreadful house, to
marry her by special Hcence as soon as it can
legally be done."

In spite of his sufferings, a ghastly laugh
escaped Sir Jasper's lips.

" You are, are you ! "

" I am."

" Yes, you are ! "

6o MEET MR. MULLINER

** Give me the key,"

" I haven't got it, you chump. It's in
the door."

" Ha, ha ! "

" It's no good saying ' Ha, ha ! ' It is
in the door. On Angela's side of the door."

*' A Hkely story ! But I cannot stay here
wasting time. If you will not give me the
key, I shall go up and break in the door."

" Do ! " Once more the baronet laughed
like a tortured soul. '' And see what she'll
say."

Wilfred could make nothing of this last
remark. He could, he thought, imagine very
clearly what Angela would say. He could
picture her sobbing on his chest, murmuring
that she knew he would come, that she had
never doubted him for an instant. He leapt
■for the door.

" Here ! Hi ! Aren't you going to let
me out ? "

" Presently," said Wilfred. " Keep cool."
He raced up the stairs.

"Angela," he cried, pressing his Hps
against the panel. " Angela ! "

" Who's that ? " answered a weU-re-
membered voice from within.

A SLICE OF LIFE 6i

"It is I — Wilfred. I am going to burst
open the door. Stand clear of the gates."

He drew back a few paces, and hurled
himself at the woodwork. There was a
grinding crash, as the lock gave. And
Wilfred, staggering on, found himself in a
room so dark that he could see nothing.

'* Angela, where are you ? "

"I'm here. And I'd like to know why
you are, after that letter I wrote you. Some
men/' continued the strangely cold voice,
" do not seem to know how to take a hint."

Wilfred staggered, and would have fallen
had he not clutched at his forehead.

" That letter ? " he stammered. " You
surely didn't mean what you wrote in that
letter ? "

" I meant every word and I wish I had
put in more."

" But — but — but But don't you love

me, Angela ? "

A hard, mocking laugh rang through the
room.

" Love you ? Love the man who recom-
mended me to try Mulliner's Raven Gipsy
Face-Cream ! "

" What do you mean ? "

62 MEET MR. MULLINER

" I will tell you what I mean. Wilfred
Mulliner, look on your handiwork ! "

The room became suddenly flooded with
hght. And there, standing with her hand
on the switch, stood Angela — a queenly,
lovely figure, in whose radiant beauty the
sternest critic would have noted but one
flaw — the fact that she was piebald.

Wilfred gazed at her with adoring eyes.
Her face was partly brow^n and partly white,
and on her snowy neck were patches of sepia
that looked like the thumb-prints you find
on the pages of books in the Free Library :
but he thought her the most beautiful
creature he had ever seen. He longed to
fold her in his arms : and but for the fact
that her eyes told him that she would
undoubtedly land an upper-cut on him if
he tried it he would have done so.

" Yes," she went on, " this is what you
have made of me, Wilfred MulUner — you and
that awful stuff you call the Raven Gipsy
Face-Cream. This is the skin you loved to
touch ! I took your advice and bought one
of the large jars at seven and six, and see
the result ! Barely twenty-four hours after
the first appUcation, I could have walked

A SLICE OF LIFE 63

into any circus and named my owti terms as
the Spotted Princess of the Fiji Islands. I
fled here to my childhood home, to hide
myself. And the first thing that happened "
— her voice broke — " was that my favourite
hunter shied at me and tried to bite pieces
out of his manger : while Ponto, my httle
dog, whom I have reared from a puppy,
caught one sight of my face and is now in
the hands of the vet. and unhkely to recover.
And it was you, Wilfred Mulhner, who
brought this curse upon me ! "

Many men would have wilted beneath
these searing words, but Wilfred Mulhner
merely smiled with infinite compassion and
understanding.

"It is quite all right," he said. *' I
should have warned you, sweetheart, that
this occasionally happens in cases where the
skin is exceptionally delicate and finely-
textured. It can be speedily remedied by
an apphcation of the Mulliner Snow of the
Mountains Lotion, four shillings the medium-
sized bottle."

'' Wilfred ! Is this true ? "

" Perfectly true, dearest. And is this all

that stands between us ? "

c

64 MEET MR. MULLINER

" No ! " shouted a voice of thunder.

Wilfred wheeled sharply. In the door-
way stood Sir Jasper ffinch-ff arrowmere .
He was swathed in a bath-towel, what was
visible of his person being a bright crimson.
Behind him, toying with a horse-whip, stood
Murgatroyd, the butler.

" You didn't expect to see me, did you ? "

" I certainly," repUed Wilfred, severely,
" did not expect to see you in a lady's
presence in a costume like that."

" Never mind my costume." Sir Jasper
turned.

" Murgatroyd, do your duty ! "

The butler, scowhng horribly, advanced
into the room.

" Stop ! " screamed Angela.

*' I haven't begun yet, miss," said the
butler, deferentially.

" You shan't touch Wilfred. I love
him."

" What ! " cried Sir Jasper. " After all
that has happened ? "

" Yes. He has explained everything."

A grim frown appeared on the baronet's
vermilion face.

" I'll bet he hasn't explained why he left

A SLICE OF LIFE 65

me to be cooked in that infernal Turkish
Bath. I was beginning to throw out clouds
of smoke when Murgatroyd, faithful fellow,
heard my cries and came and released me."

" Though not my work," added the butler.

Wilfred eyed him steadily.

** If," he said, '' you used Mulliner's
Reduc-o, the recognised specific for obesity,
whether in the tabloid form at three shillings
the tin, or as a liquid at five and six the flask,
you would have no need to stew in Turkish
Baths. MulUner's Reduc-o, which contains
no injurious chemicals, but is compounded
purely of health-giving herbs, is guaranteed
to remove excess weight, steadily and without
weakening after-effects, at the rate of two
pounds a week. As used by the nobihty."

The glare of hatred faded from the
baronet's eyes.

*' Is that a fact ? " he whispered.

" It is."
You guarantee it ? "
All the Mulliner preparations are fully
guaranteed."

" My boy ! " cried the baronet. He shook
Wilfred by the hand. " Take her," he said,
brokenly. " And with her my b-blessing."

66 MEET MR. MULLINER

A discreet cough sounded in the back-
ground.

" You haven't anything, by any chance,
sir," asked Murgatroyd, " that's good for
lumbago ? "

" MuUiner's Ease-o will cure the most
stubborn case in six days."

" Bless you, sir, bless you," sobbed
Murgatroyd. " Where can I get it ? "

" At all chemists."

" It catches me in the small of the back
principally, sir."

" It need catch you no longer," said
Wilfred.

There is little to add. Murgatroyd is
now the most lissom butler in Yorkshire.
Sir Jasper's weight is down under the fifteen
stone and he is thinking of taking up hunting
again. Wilfred and Angela are man and
wife ; and never, I am informed, have the
wedding-bells of the old church at ffinch
village rung out a blither peal than they
did on that June morning when Angela,
raising to her love a face on which the
brown was as evenly distributed as on an
antique walnut table, replied to the clergy-
man's question, " Wilt thou, Angela, take this

A SLICE OF LIFE 67

Wilfred ? " with a shy, " I will." They
now have two bonny bairns — the small, or
Percival, at a preparatory school in Sussex,
and the large, or Ferdinand, at Eton.

Here Mr. Mulhner, having finished his
hot Scotch, bade us farewell and took his
departure.

A silence followed his exit. The company
seemed plunged in deep thought. Then
somebody rose.

" Well, good night all," he said.

It seemed to sum up the situation

Ill

MULLINER'S BUCK-U-UPPO

THE village Choral Society had been
giving a performance of Gilbert and
SuUivan's "Sorcerer" in aid of the
Church Organ Fund ; and, as we sat in the
window of the Anglers' Rest, smoking our
pipes, the audience came streaming past us
down the little street. Snatches of song
floated to our ears, and Mr. MuUiner began
to croon in unison.

" ' Ah me ! I was a pa-ale you-oung
curate then I ' " chanted Mr. Mulliner in the
rather snuffling voice in which the amateur
singer seems to find it necessary to render
the old songs.

" Remarkable," he said, resuming his
natural tones, " how fashions change, even
in clergymen. There are very few pale
young curates nowadays."

''True," I agreed. "Most of them are

68

MULLINER'S BUCK-U-UPPO 69

beefy young fellows who rowed for their
colleges. I don't believe I have ever seen
a pale young curate."

*' You never met my nephew Augustine,
I think ? "

" Never."

" The description in the song would have
fitted him perfectly. You will want to hear
all about my nephew Augustine."

At the time of which I am speaking (said
Mr. MuHiner) my nephew Augustine was a
curate, and very young and extremely pale.
As a boy he had completely outgrown his
strength, and I rather think that at his
Theological College some of the wilder spirits
must have bullied him ; for when he went
to Lower Briskett-in-the-Midden to assist the
vicar, the Rev. Stanley Brandon, in his cure
of souls, he was as meek and mild a young
man as you could meet in a day's journey.
He had flaxen hair, weak blue eyes, and the
general demeanour of a saintly but timid
codfish. Precisely, in short, the sort of
young curate who seems to have been so
common in the 'eighties, or whenever it was
that Gilbert wrote "The Sorcerer."

70 MEET MR. MULLINER

The personality of his immediate supenor
did httle or nothing to help him to overcome
his native diffidence. The Rev. Stanley
Brandon was a huge and sinewy man of
violent temper, whose red face and glittering
eyes might well have intimidated the toughest
curate. The Rev. Stanley had been a heavy-
weight boxer at Cambridge, and I gather
from Augustine that he seemed to be always
on the point of introducing into debates on
parish matters the methods which had made
him so successful in the roped ring. I
remember Augustine telHng me that once,
on the occasion when he had ventured to
oppose the other's views in the matter of
decorating the church for the Harvest
Festival, he thought for a moment that the
vicar was going to drop him with a right
hook to the chin. It was some qmte trivial
point that had come up — a question as to
whether the pumpkin would look better in
the apse or the clerestory, if I recollect
rightly — but for several seconds it seemed as
if blood was about to be shed.

Such was the Rev. Stanley Brandon.
And yet it was to the daughter of this for-
midable man that Augustine MuUiner had

MULLINER'S BUCK-U-UPPO 71

permitted himself to lose his heart. Truly,
Cupid makes heroes of us all.

Jane was a very nice girl, and just as
fond of Augustine as he was of her. But,
as each lacked the nerve to go to the girl's
father and put him abreast of the position
of affairs, they were forced to meet sur-
reptitiously. This jarred upon Augustine,
who, hke all the MuUiners, loved the truth
and hated any form of deception. And one
evening, as they paced beside the laurels at
the bottom of the vicarage garden, he
rebelled.

" My dearest," said Augustine, "I can
no longer brook this secrecy. I shall go
into the house immediately and ask your
father for your hand."

Jane paled and clung to his arm. She
knew so well that it was not her hand but
her father's foot which he would receive if
he carried out this mad scheme.

" No, no, Augustine ! You must not ! "

" But, darhng, it is the only straight-
forward course."

" But not to-night. I beg of you, not

to-night."

" Why not ? "

c 2

72 MEET MR. MULLINER

** Because father is in a very bad temper.
He has just had a letter from the bishop,
rebuking him for wearing too many orphreys
on his chasuble, and it has upset him terribly.
You see, he and the bishop were at school
together, and father can never forget it.
He said at dinner that if old Boko Bickerton
thought he was going to order him about
he would jolly well show him."

" And the bishop comes here to-morrow
for the Confirmation services ! " gasped
Augustine.

" Yes. And I'm so afraid they will
quarrel. It's such a pity father hasn't some
other bishop over him. He always re-
members that he once hit this one in the
eye for pouring ink on his collar, and this
lowers his respect for his spiritual authority.
So you won't go in and tell him to-night,
will you ?

" I will not," Augustine assured her with
a slight shiver.

" And you will be sure to put your feet
in hot mustard and x^-ater when you get
home ? The dew has made the grass so
wet."

" I will indeed, dearest."

MULLINER'S BUCK-U-UPPO 73

" You are not strong, you know."

" No, I am not strong."

" You ought to take some really good
tonic."

" Perhaps I ought. Good night, Jane."

" Good night, Augustine."

The lovers parted. Jane shpped back into
the vicarage, and Augustine made liis way
to his cosy rooms in the High Street. And
the first thing he noticed on entering was a
parcel on the table, and beside it a letter.

He opened it listlessly, his thoughts far
away.

" My dear Augustine."

He turned to the last page and glanced
at the signature. The letter was from his
Aunt Angela, the wife of my brother, Wilfred
MulHner. You may remember that I once
told you the story of how these two came
together. If so, you will recall that my
brother Wilfred was the eminent chemical
researcher who had invented, among other
specifics, such world-famous preparations as
Mulliner's Raven Gipsy Face-Cream and the
Mulliner Snow of the Mountains Lotion. He
and Augustine had never been particularly
intimate, but between Augustine and his

74 MEET MR. MULLINER

aunt there had always existed a warm
friendship.

My dear Augustine (wrote Angela MuUiner),
/ have been thinking so much about
you lately, and I cannot forget that, when I
saw you last, you seemed very fragile and
deficient in vitamines. I do hope you take
care of yourself .

I have been feeling for some time that you
ought to take a tonic, and by a lucky chance
Wilfred has just invented one which he tells
me is the finest thing he has ever done. It is
called Buck-U-Uppo, and acts directly on the
red corpuscles. It is not yet on the market,
but I have managed to smuggle a sample
bottle from Wilfred's laboratory, and I want
you to try it at once. I am sure it is just what
vou need.

Your affectionate aunt,

Angela MuUiner.

P.S. — Yott take a tablespoonful before going
to bed, and another just before breakfast.

Augustine was not an unduly superstitious
young man, but the coincidence of this tonic

MULLINER'S BUCK-U-UPPO 75

arriving so soon after Jane had told him that
a tonic was what he needed affected him
deeply. It seemed to him that this thing
must have been meant. He shook the bottle,
uncorked it, and, pouring out a liberal table-
spoonful, shut his eyes and swallowed it.

The medicine, he was glad to find, was
not unpleasant to the taste. It had a slightly
pungent flavour, rather like old boot-soles
beaten up in sherry. Having taken the
dose, he read for a while in a book of theo-
logical essays, and then went to bed.

And as his feet slipped between the
sheets, he was annoyed to find that Mrs.
Wardle, his housekeeper, had once more
forgotten his hot-water bottle.

" Oh, dash ! " said Augustine.

He was thoroughly upset. He had told
the woman over and over again that he
suffered from cold feet and could not get
to sleep unless the dogs were properly
warmed up. He sprang out of bed and
went to the head of the stairs.

" Mrs. Wardle ! " he cried.

There was no reply.

** Mrs. Wardle ! " bellowed Augustine in
a voice that rattled the window-panes hke

76 MEET MR. MULLINER

a strong nor'-easter. Until to-night he had
always been very much afraid of his house-
keeper and had both walked and talked
softly in her presence. But now he was
conscious of a strange new fortitude. His
head was singing a httle, and he felt equal
to a dozen Mrs. Wardles.

Shuffling footsteps made themselves heard.

" Well, what is it now ? " asked a queru-
lous voice.

Augustine snorted.

"I'll tell you what it is now," he roared.
" How many times have I told you always
to put a hot-water bottle in my bed ?
You've forgotten it again, you old cloth-
head ! "

Mrs. Wardle peered up, astounded and
mihtant.

" Mr. Mulliner, I am not accustomed "

" Shut up ! " thundered Augustine.
** What I want from you is less back-chat
and more hot-water bottles. Bring it up at
once, or I leave to-morrow. Let me en-
deavour to get it into your concrete skull
that you aren't the only person letting rooms
in this village. Any more Hp and I walk
straight round the comer, where I'll be

MULLINER'S BUCK-U-UPPO 77

appreciated. Hot-water bottle ho ! And
look slippy about it."

" Yes, Mr. Mulliner. Certainly, Mr.
Mulliner. In one moment, Mr. Mulliner."

" Action ! Action ! " boomed Augustine.
" Show some speed. Put a little snap into it."

■' Yes, yes, most decidedly, Mr. Mulliner,"
repHed the chastened voice from below.

An hour later, as he was dropping off to
sleep, a thought crept into Augustine's mind.
Had he not been a little brusque with Mrs.
Wardle ? Had there not been in his manner
something a shade abrupt — almost rude ?
Yes, he decided regretfully, there had. He
lit a candle and reached for the diary which
lay on the table at his bedside.

He made an entry.

The meek shall inherit the earth. Am I
sufficiently meek ? I wonder. This evening,
when reproaching Mrs. Wardle, my worthy
housekeeper, for omitting to place a hot-water
bottle in my bed, I spoke quite crossly. The
provocation was severe, hut still I was surely
to hlame for allowing my passions to rim riot.
Mem : Must guard agst this.

But when he woke next morning, different
feehngs prevailed. He took his ante-break-

78 MEET MR. MULLINER

fast dose of Buck-U-Uppo : and looking at
the entry in the diary, could scarcely beheve
that it was he who had written it. " Quite
cross ? " Of course he had been quite cross.
Wouldn't anybody be quite cross who was
for ever being persecuted by beetle-wits who
forgot hot-water bottles ?

Erasing the words with one strong dash
of a thick-leaded pencil, he scribbled in the
margin a hasty " Mashed potatoes ! Served
the old idiot right ! " and went down to
breakfast.

He felt most amazingly fit. Un-
doubtedly, in asserting that this tonic of
his acted forcefully upon the red corpuscles,
Ms Uncle Wilfred had been right. Until
that moment Augustine had never supposed
that he had any red corpuscles ; but now,
as he sat waiting for Mrs. Wardle to bring
him his fried egg, he could feel them dancing
about all over him. They seemed to be
forming rowdy parties and sliding down his
spine. His eyes sparkled, and from sheer
joy of hving he sang a few bars from the hymn
for those of riper years at sea.

He was still singing when Mrs. Wardle
entered with a dish.

MULLINER'S BUCK-U-UPPO 79

" What's this ? " demanded Augustine,
eyeing it dangerously.

" A nice fried Qg^, sir."

" And what, pray, do you mean by nice ?
It may be an amiable Qgg. It may be a
civil, well-meaning Qgg. But if you think it
is fit for human consumption, adjust that
impression. Go back to your kitchen,
woman ; select another ; and remember
this time that you are a cook, not an in-
cinerating machine. Between an egg that
is fried and an Qgg that is cremated there is
a wide and substantial difference. This
difference, if you wish to retain me as a
lodger in these far too expensive rooms, you
will endeavour to appreciate."

The glowing sense of well-being with
which Augustine had begun the day did not
diminish with the passage of time. It
seemed, indeed, to increase. So full of
effervescing energy did the young man feel
that, departing from his usual custom of
spending the morning crouched over the
fire, he picked up his hat, stuck it at a rakish
angle on his head, and sallied out for a
healthy tramp across the fields.

8o MEET MR. MULLINER

It was while he was returning, flushed
and rosy, that he observed a sight which is
rare in the country districts of England —
the spectacle of a bishop running. It is
not often in a place like Lower Briskett-in-
the-Midden that you see a bishop at all ;
and when you do he is either riding in a
stately car or pacing at a dignified walk.
This one was sprinting hke a Derby winner,
and Augustine paused to drink in the sight.

The bishop was a large, burly bishop,
built for endurance rather than speed ; but
he was making excellent going. He flashed
past Augustine in a whirl of flying gaiters :
and then, proving himself thereby no mere
specialist but a versatile all-round athlete,
suddenly dived for a tree and climbed rapidly
into its branches. His motive, Augustine
readily divined, was to elude a rough, hairy
dog which was toiling in his wake. The dog
reached the tree a moment after his quarry
had climbed it, and stood there, barking.

Augustine strolled up.

" Having a httle trouble with the dumb
friend, bish ? " he asked, genially.

The bishop peered down from his eyrie.

" Young man," he said, " save me \ "

MULLINER'S BUCK-U-UPPO 8i

" Right most indubitably ho ! " repHed
Augustine. '* Leave it to me."

Until to-day he had always been terrified
of dogs, but now he did not hesitate. Almost
quicker than words can tell, he picked up
a stone, discharged it at the animal, and
whooped cheerily as it got home with a thud.
The dog, knowing when he had had enough,
removed himself at some forty-five m.p.h. ;
and the bishop, descending cautiously,
clasped Augustine's hand in his.

" My preserver ! " said the bishop.

" Don't give it another thought," said
Augustine, cheerily. " Always glad to do a
pal a good turn. We clergymen must stick
together."

" I thought he had me for a minute."

" Quite a nasty customer. Full of rude
energy."

The bishop nodded.

" His eye was not dim, nor his natural
force abated. Deuteronomy xxxiv. 7," he
agreed. " I wonder if you can direct me to
the vicarage ? I fear I have come a little
out of my way."

"Til take you there."

" Thank you. Perhaps it would be as

82 MEET MR. MULLINER

well if you did not come in. I have a serious
matter to discuss with old Pieface — I mean,
with the Rev. Stanley Brandon."

" I have a serious matter to discuss with
his daughter. I'll just hang about the
garden."

*' You are a very excellent young man,"
said the bishop, as they walked along. " You
are a curate, eh ? "

"At present. But," said Augustine,
tapping his companion on the chest, " just
watch my smoke. That's all I ask you to
do — just watch my smoke."

" I will. You should rise to great heights
— to the very top of the tree."

" Like you did just now, eh ? Ha, ha ! "

" Ha, ha ! " said the bishop. " You
young rogue ! "

He poked Augustine in the ribs.

" Ha, ha, ha ! " said Augustine.

He slapped the bishop on the back.

" But all joking aside," said the bishop
as they entered the vicarage grounds, " I
really shall keep my eye on you and see that
you receive the swift preferment which your
talents and character deserve. I say to you,
my dear young friend, speaking seriously and

MULLINER'S BUCK-U-UPPO 83

weighing my words, that the way you picked
that dog off with that stone was the smoothest
thing I ever saw. And I am a man who
always tells the strict truth."

" Great is truth and mighty above all
things. Esdras iv. 41," said Augustine.

He turned away and strolled towards the
laurel bushes, which were his customary
meeting-place with Jane. The bishop went
on to the front door and rang the bell.

Although they had made no definite
appointment, Augustine was surprised when
the minutes passed and no Jane appeared.
He did not know that she had been told off
by her father to entertain the bishop's wife
that morning, and show her the sights of
Lower Briskett-in-the-Midden. He waited
some quarter of an hour with growing
impatience, and was about to leave when
suddenly from the house there came to his
ears the sound of voices raised angrily.

He stopped. The voices appeared to
proceed from a room on the ground floor
facing the garden.

Running hghtly over the turf, Augustine
paused outside the window and listened.

84 MEET MR. MULLINER

The window was open at the bottom, and
he could hear quite distinctly.

The vicar was speaking in a voice that
vibrated through the room.

" Is that so ? " said the vicar.
Yes, it is ! " said the bishop.
Ha, ha ! "

" Ha, ha ! to you, and see how you like
it ! " rejoined the bishop with spirit.

Augustine drew a step closer. It was
plain that Jane's fears had been justified and
that there was serious trouble afoot between
these two old schoolfellows. He peeped in.
The vicar, his hands behind his coat-tails,
was striding up and down the carpet, while
the bishop, his back to the fireplace, glared
defiance at him from the hearth-rug.

" Who ever told you you were an authority
on chasubles ? " demanded the vicar.

" That's all right who told me," rejoined
the bishop.

" I don't believe you know what a chasuble
is."

" Is that so ? "

" WeU, what is it, then ? "

" It's a circular cloak hanging from the
shoulders, elaborately embroidered with a

MULLINER'S BUCK-U-UPPO 85

pattern and with orphreys. And you can
argue as much as you Hke, young Pieface, but
you can't get away from the fact that there
are too many orphreys on yours. And what
I'm teUing you is that you've jolly well got
to switch off a few of those orphreys or you'll
get it in the neck."

The vicar's eyes glittered furiously.

" Is that so ? " he said. " Well, I just
won't, so there ! And it's like your cheek
coming here and trying to high-hat me.
You seem to have forgotten that I knew you
when you were an inky-faced kid at school,
and that, if I liked, I could tell the world
one or two things about you which would
probably amuse it."

" My past is an open book."

"Is it ? " The vicar laughed male-
volently. " Who put the white mouse in
the French master's desk ? "

The bishop started.

" W'ho put jam in the dormitory prefect's
bed ? " he retorted.

" Who couldn't keep his collar clean ? "

" WTio used to wear a dickey ? " The
bishop's wonderful organ-hke voice, whose
softest whisper could be heard throughout a

86 MEET MR. MULLINER

vast cathedral, rang out in tones of thunder.

" Who was sick at the house supper ? "

The vicar quivered from head to foot.
His rubicund face turned a deeper crimson.

" You know jolly well/' he said, in
shaking accents, " that there was something
wrong with the turkey. Might have upset

any one."

" The only thing wrong with the turkey
was that you ate too much of it. If you
had paid as much attention to developing
your soul as you did to developing your
tummy, you might by now," said the bishop,
" have risen to my own eminence."

" Oh, might 1 ? "

" No, perhaps I am wrong. You never
had the brain."

The vicar uttered another discordant laugh.

" Brain is good ! We know all about your
eminence, as you call it, and how you rose
to that eminence."

" WTiat do you mean ? "

" You are a bishop. How you became
one we will not inquire."

" What do you mean ? "

" What I say. We will not inquire."

" Why don't you inquire ? "

MULLINER'S BUCK-U-UPPO 87

" Because," said the vicar, '* it is better
not ! "

The bishop's self-control left him. His
face contorted with fury, he took a step
forward. And simultaneously Augustine
sprang lightly into the room.

" Now, now, now ! " said Augustine.
'' Now, now, now, now, now ! "

The two men stood transfixed. They
stared at the intruder dumbly.

" Come, come ! " said Augustine.

The vicar was the first to recover. He
glowered at Augustine.

" What do you mean by jumping through
my window ? " he thundered. '' Are you a
curate or a harlequin ? "

Augustine met his gaze with an unfaltering
eye.

" I am a curate," he replied, with a
dignity that well became him. '' And, as a
curate, I cannot stand by and see two
superiors of the cloth, who are moreover
old schoolfellows, forgetting themselves. It
isn't right. Absolutely not right, my dear
old superiors of the cloth."

The vicar bit his hp. The bishop bowed
his head.

88 MEET MR. MULLINER

" Listen," proceeded Augustine, placing
a hand on the shoulder of each. " I hate
to see you two dear good chaps quarreUing
like this."

" He started it," said the vicar, sullenly.

" Never mind who started it." Augustine
silenced the bishop with a curt gesture as
he made to speak. " Be sensible, my dear
fellows. Respect the decencies of debate.
Exercise a little good-humoured give-and-
take. You say," he went on, turning to
the bishop, " that our good friend here has
too many orphreys on his chasuble ? "
I do. And I stick to it."
Yes, yes, yes. But what," said Augus-
tine, soothingly, " are a few orphreys be-
tween friends ? Reflect ! You and our
worthy vicar here were at school together.
You are bound by the sacred ties of the
old Alma Mater. With him you sported on
the green. With him you shared a crib and
threw inked darts in the hour supposed to be
devoted to the study of French. Do these
things mean nothing to you ? Do these
memories touch no chord ? " He turned
appeahngly from one to the other. " Vicar !
Bish ! "

((

tt

MULLINER'S BUCK-U-UPPO 89

The vicar had moved away and was
wiping his eyes. The bishop fumbled for a
pocket-handkerchief. There was a silence.

" Sorry, Pieface," said the bishop, in a
choking voice.

** Shouldn't have spoken as I did. Boko,"
mumbled the vicar.

" If you want to know what I think," said
the bishop, *' you are right in attributing
your indisposition at the house supper to
something wrong with the turkey. I re-
collect saying at the time that the bird
should never have been served in such a
condition."

** And when you put that white mouse in
the French master's desk," said the vicar,
*' you performed one of the noblest services
to humanity of which there is any record.
They ought to have made you a bishop on
the spot."

" Pieface ! "

" Boko I "

The two men clasped hands.

" Splendid ! " said Augustine. " Every-
thing hotsy-totsy now ? "

" Quite, quite," said the vicar.

" As far as I am concerned, completely

90 MEET MR. MULLINER

hotsy-totsy," said the bishop. He turned
to his old friend soHcitously. " You will
continue to wear all the orphreys you want —
will you not, Pief ace ? ' '

" No, no. I see now that I was wrong.
From now on. Boko, I abandon orphreys
altogether."

" But, Pieface "

" It's all right," the vicar assured him.
" I can take them or leave them alone."

" Splendid fellow ! " The bishop

coughed to hide his emotion, and there was
another silence. " I think, perhaps," he
went on, after a pause, " I should be leaving
you now, my dear chap, and going in search
of my wife. She is with your daughter, I
believe, somewhere in the village."

" They are coming up the drive now."

" Ah, yes, I see them. A charming girl,
your daughter."

Augustine clapped him on the shoulder.

" Bish," he exclaimed, " you said a
mouthful. She is the dearest, sweetest girl
in the whole world. And I should be glad,
vicar, if you would give your consent to
our immediate union. I love Jane with
a good man's fervour, and I am happy to

MULLINER'S BUCK-U-UPPO 91

inform you that my sentiments are returned.
Assure us, therefore, of your approval, and
I will go at once and have the banns
put up."

The vicar leaped as though he had been
stung. Like so many vicars, he had a poor
opinion of curates, and he had always
regarded Augustine as rather below than
above the general norm or level of the
despised class.

" What ! " he cried.

" A most excellent idea," said the
bishop, beaming. " A very happy notion,
I call it."

" My daughter ! " The vicar seemed
dazed. " My daughter marry a curate ! "

" You were a curate once yourself. Pie-
face."

** Yes, but not a curate Uke that."

" No ! " said the bishop. " You were
not. Nor was I. Better for us both had
we been. This young man, I would have
you know, is the most outstandingly ex-
cellent young man I have ever encountered.
Are you aware that scarcely an hour ago he
saved me with the most consummate address
from a large shaggy dog with black spots and

92 MEET MR. MULLINER

a kink in his tail ? I was sorely pressed,
Pieface, when this young man came up and,
with a readiness of resource and an accuracy
of aim which it would be impossible to over-
praise, got that dog in the short ribs with a
rock and sent him flying."

The vicar seemed to be struggHng with
some powerful emotion. His eyes had
widened.

*' A dog with black spots ? "

" Very black spots. But no blacker, I
fear, than the heart they hid."

** And he really plugged him in the short
ribs ? "

" As far as I could see, squarely in the
short ribs."

The vicar held out his hand.

" Mulliner," he said, " I was not aware
of this. In the hght of the facts which have
just been drawn to my attention, I have no
hesitation in saying that my objections are
removed. I have had it in for that dog
since the second Sunday before Septuagesima,
when he pinned me by the ankle as I paced
beside the river composing a sermon on
Certain Alarming Manifestations of the So-
called Modern Spirit. Take Jane. I give

MULLINER'S BUCK-U-UPPO 93

my consent freely. And may she be as
happy as any girl with such a husband ought
to be."

A few more affecting words were ex-
changed, and then the bishop and Augustine
left the house. The bishop was silent and
thoughtful.

" I owe you a great deal, Mulliner," he
said at length.

" Oh, I don't know," said Augustine.
'* Would you say that ? "

** A very great deal. You saved me
from a terrible disaster. Had you not
leaped through that window at that precise
juncture and intervened, I really believe
I should have pasted my dear old friend
Brandon in the eye. I was sorely exaspe-
rated."

" Our good vicar can be trying at times,"
agreed Augustine.

" My list was already clenched, and I was
just hauhng off for the swing when you
checked me. What the result would have
been, had you not exhibited a tact and dis-
cretion beyond your years, I do not like to
think. I might have been unfrocked." He
shivered at the thought, though the weather

94 MEET MR. MULLINER

was mild. " I could never have shown my
face at the Athenaeum again. But, tut,
tut ! " went on the bishop, patting Augustine
on the shoulder, " let us not dwell on what
might have been. Speak to me of yourself.
The vicar's charming daughter — you really
love her ? "

" I do, indeed."

The bishop's face had grown grave.

" Think well, Mulliner," he said. " Mar-
riage is a serious affair. Do not plunge into
it without due reflection. I myself am a
husband, and, though singularly blessed in
the possession of a devoted helpmeet, cannot
but feel sometimes that a man is better
off as a bachelor. Women, Mulliner, are
odd."

" True," said Augustine.

" My own dear wife is the best of
women. And, as I never weary of saying,
a good woman is a wondrous creature,
cleaving to the right and the good under
all change ; lovely in youthful comeliness,
lovely all her life in comeliness of h^^^t.
And yet "

" And yet ? " said Augustine.

The bishop mused for a moment. He

MULLINER'S BUCK-U-UPPO 95

wriggled a little with an expression of pain,
and scratched himself between the shoulder-
blades.

"Well, I'll tell you," said the bishop.
" It is a warm and pleasant day to-day, is it
not ? "

" Exceptionally clement," said Augustine.

** A fair, sunny day, made gracious by a
temperate westerly breeze. And yet, Mul-
hner, if you will credit my statement, my
wife insisted on my putting on my thick
winter woollies this morning. Truly," sighed
the bishop, " as a jewel of gold in a swine's
snout, so is a fair woman which is without
discretion. Proverbs xi. 21."

" Twenty- two," corrected Augustine.

" I should have said twenty- two. They
are made of thick flannel, and I have an
exceptionally sensitive skin. Oblige me, my
dear fellow, by rubbing me in the smaU of
the back with the ferrule of your stick. I
think it will ease the irritation."

" But, my poor dear old bish," said
A^ygustine, sympathetically, " this must not
be."

The bishop shook Iiis head ruefully.

" You would not speak so hardily,

D

96 MEET MR. MULLINER

Mulliner, if you knew my wife. There is
no appeal from her decrees."

" Nonsense," cried Augustine, cheerily.
He looked through the trees to where the
lady bishopess, escorted by Jane, was ex-
amining a lobeHa through her lorgnette with
just the right blend of cordiahty and con-
descension. " m fix that for you in a
second."

The bishop clutched at his arm.

" My boy ! What are you going to
do? "

'' I'm. just going to have a word with
your wife and put the matter up to her
as a reasonable woman. Thick winter
woolhes on a day like this ! Absurd ! " said
Augustine. " Preposterous ! I never heard
such rot."

The bishop gazed after him with a laden
heart. Already he had come to love this
young man like a son : and to see him charg-
ing so light-heartedly into the very jaws of
destruction afflicted him with a deep and
poignant sadness. He knew what his wife
was hke when even the highest in the land
attempted to thwart her ; and this brave
lad was but a curate. In another moment

MULLINER'S BUCK-U-UPPO 97

she would be looking at him through her
lorgnette : and England was littered with
the shrivelled remains of curates at whom
the lady bishopess had looked through her
lorgnette. Pie had seen them wilt like salted
slugs at the episcopal breakfast- table.

He held his breath. Augustine had
reached the lady bishopess, and the lady
bishopess was even now raising her lorgnette.

The bishop shut his eyes and turned
away. And then — years afterwards, it
seemed to him — a cheery voice hailed him :
and, turning, he perceived Augustine bound-
ing back through the trees.

" It's all right, bish," said Augustine.
All — all right ? " faltered the bishop.
Yes. She says you can go and change
into the thin cashmere."

The bishop reeled.

** But — but — but what did you say to
her ? What arguments did you employ ? "

" Oh, I just pointed out what a warm day
it was and jolUed her along a bit "

" JoUied her along a bit ! "

*' And she agreed in the most friendly and
cordial manner. She has asked me to call
at the Palace one of these days."

it

98 MEET MR. MULLINER

The bishop seized Augustine's hand.
My boy," he said in a broken voice,
you shall do more than call at the Palace.
You shall come and hve at the Palace.
Become my secretary, MuUiner, and name
your own salary. If you intend to marry,
you will require an increased stipend. Be-
come my secretary, boy, and never leave my
side. I have needed somebody like you for
years."

It was late in the afternoon when Augus-
tine returned to his rooms, for he had been
invited to lunch at the vicarage and had
been the life and soul of the cheery little
party.

" A letter for you, sir," said Mrs. Wardle,
obsequiously.

Augustine took the letter.

" I am sorry to say I shall be leaving you
shortly, Mrs. Wardle."

"Oh, sir ! If there's anything I can
do "

" Oh, it's not that. The fact is, the
bishop has made me his secretary, and I
shall have to shift my toothbrush and spats
to the Palace, you see."

MULLINER'S BUCK-U-UPPO 99

" WeU, fancy that, sir ! Why, you'U be
a bishop yourself one of these days."

" Possibly," said Augustine. " Possibly.
And now let me read this."

He opened the letter. A thoughtful
frown appeared on his face as he read.

My dear Augustine,

I am writing in some haste to tell you
that the impulsiveness of your aunt has led to
a rather serious mistake.

She tells me that she dispatched to you
yesterday hy parcels post a sample bottle of my
new Buck-U-Uppo, which she obtained with-
out my knowledge from my laboratory. Had
she mentioned what she was intending to do,
I could have prevented a very unfortunate
occurrence.

Mulliner's Buck-U-Uppo is of two grades
or qualities — the A and the B. The A is a
mild, but strengthening, tonic designed for
human invalids. The B, on the other hand,
is purely for circulation in the animal king-
dom, and was invented to fill a long-felt want
throiighout our Indian possessions.

As you are doubtless aware, the favourite
pastime of the Indian Maharajahs is the

loo MEET MR. MULLINER

hunting of the tiger of the jungle from the hacks
of elephants ; and it has happened frequently
in the past that hunts have been spoiled by the
failure of the elephant to see eye to eye with
its owner in the matter of what constitutes
sport.

Too often elephants, on sighting the tiger,
have turned and galloped home : and it ivas
to correct this tendency on their part that I
invented Mulliner's Buck-U-Uppo " B." One
teaspoonful of the Buck-U-Uppo " B " ad-
ministered in its morning bran-mash will
cause the most timid elephant to trumpet loudly
and charge the fiercest tiger without a qualm.

Abstain, therefore, from taking any of the
contents of the bottle you now possess,
And believe me,

Your affectionate uncle.

Wilfred Mulliner.

Augustine remained for some time in deep
thought after perusing this communication.
Then, rising, he whistled a few bars of the
psalm appointed for the twenty-sixth of
June and left the room.

Half an hour later a telegraphic message
was speeding over the wires.

MULLINER'S BUCK-U-UPPO loi

It ran as follows : —

Wilfred Mulliner,
The Gables,

Lesser Lossingham,
Salop.

Letter received. Send immediately , C.O.D.,
three cases of the " B." " Blessed shall be thy
basket and thy store." Deuteronomy xxviii. 5.

Augustine.

IV

THE BISHOP'S MOVE

ANOTHER Sunday was drawing to a close,
/-\ and Mr. Mulliner had come into the
bar -parlour of the Anglers' Rest
wearing on his head, in place of the seedy
old wideawake which usually adorned it, a
gUstening top hat. From this, combined
with the sober black of his costume and the
rather devout voice in which he ordered hot
Scotch and lemon, I deduced that he had
been attending Evensong.

" Good sermon ? " I asked.

" Quite good. The new curate preached.
He seems a nice young fellow."

" Speaking of curates," I said, " I have
often wondered what became of your nephew
— the one you were telling me about the
other day."

" Augustine ? "

" The fellow who took the Buck-U-Uppo."

I02

THE BISHOP'S MOVE 103

" That was Augustine. And I am pleased
and not a little touched/' said Mr. Mulliner,
beaming, " that you should have remembered
the trivial anecdote which I related. In
this self-centred world one does not always
find such a sympathetic listener to one's
stories. Let me see, where did we leave
Augustine ? "

" He had just become the bishop's
secretary and gone to live at the Palace."

"Ah, yes. We will take up his career,
then, some six months after the date which
you have indicated."

It was the custom of the good Bishop of
Stortford — for, like all the prelates of our
Church, he loved his labours — to embark
upon the duties of the day (said Mr. Mulliner)
in a cheerful and jocund spirit. Usually, as
he entered his study to dispatch such busi-
ness as might have arisen from the corre-
spondence which had reached the Palace by
the first post, there was a smile upon his
face and possibly upon his hps a snatch of
some gay psalm. But on the morning on
which this story begins an observer would

have noted that he wore a preoccupied, even

D 2

104 MEET MR. MULLINER

a sombre, look. Reaching the study door,
he hesitated as if reluctant to enter ; then,
pulHng himself together with a visible effort,
he turned the handle.

" Good morning, MuUiner, my boy," he
said. His manner was noticeably embar-
rassed.

Augustine glanced brightly up from the
pile of letters which he was opening.

" Cheerio, Bish. How's the lumbago
to-day ? "

" I find the pain sensibly diminished,
thank you, Mulhner — in fact, almost non-
existent. This pleasant weather seems to
do me good. For lo ! the winter is past,
the rain is over and gone ; the flowers appear
on the earth ; the time of the singing birds
is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard
in the land. Song of Solomon ii. ii, 12."

" Good work," said Augustine. " Well,
there's nothing much of interest in these
letters so far. The Vicar of St. Beowulf's
in the West wants to know, How about
incense ? " 1

" Tell him he mustn't." '

" Right ho."

The bishop stroked his chin uneasily.

THE BISHOP'S MOVE 105

He seemed to be nerving himself for some
unpleasant task.

" MuUiner," he said.

" Hullo ? "

" Your mention of the word * vicar '
provides a cue, which I must not ignore, for
alluding to a matter which you and I had
under advisement yesterday — the matter
of the vacant living of Steeple Mummery."

" Yes ? " said Augustine eagerly. " Do
I cUck ? "

A spasm of pain passed across the bishop's
face. He shook his head sadly.

" Mulliner, my boy," he said. " You
know that I look upon you as a son and that,
left to my own initiative, I would bestow
this vacant living on you without a moment's
hesitation. But an unforeseen complication
has arisen. Unhappy lad, my wife has
instructed me to give the post to a cousin
of hers. A fellow," said the bishop bitterly,
" who bleats hke a sheep and doesn't know
an alb from a reredos."

Augustine, as was only natural, was
conscious of a momentary pang of dis-
appointment. But he was a MulUner and a
sportsman.

io6 MEET MR. MULLINER

" Don't give it another thought, Bish,"
he said cordially. " I quite understand. I
don't say I hadn't hopes, but no doubt there
will be another along in a minute."

" You know how it is," said the bishop,
looking cautiously round to see that the
door was closed. "It is better to dwell
in a corner of the housetop than with a
brawling woman in a wide house. Proverbs
xxi. 9."

" A continual dropping in a very rainy
day and a contentious woman are alike.
Proverbs xxvii. 15," agreed Augustine.

" Exactly. How well you understand me,
MuUiner."

" Meanwhile," said Augustine, holding up
a letter, " here's something that calls for
attention. It's from a bird of the name of
Trevor Entwhistle."

" Indeed ? An old schoolfellow of mine.
He is now Headmaster of Harchester, the
foundation at which we both received our
early education. Wliat does he say ? "

" He wants to know if you will run down
for a few days and unveil a statue which
they have just put up to Lord Hemel of
Hempstead."

THE BISHOP'S MOVE 107

'* Another old schoolfellow. We called
him Fatty."

" There's a postscript over the page.
He says he still has a dozen of the 'Sy
port."

The bishop pursed his hps.

" These earthly considerations do not
weigh with me so much as old Catsmeat —
as the Reverend Trevor Entwhistle seems to
suppose. However, one must not neglect the
call of the dear old school. We will certainly

go."

" We ? "

" I shall require your company. I think
you will hke Harchester, MulHner. A noble
pile, founded by the seventh Henry."

" I know it well. A young brother of
mine is there."

" Indeed ? Dear me," mused the bishop,
" it must be twenty years and more since I
last visited Harchester. I shall enjoy seeing
the old, famiUar scenes once again. After
all, MuUiner, to whatever eminence we may
soar, howsoever great may be the prizes which
life has bestowed upon us, we never wholly
lose our sentiment for the dear old school.
It is our Alma Mater, MuUiner, the gentle

io8 MEET MR. MULLINER

mother that has set our hesitating footsteps
on the "

" Absolutely," said Augustine.

" And, as we grow older, we see that
never can we recapture the old, careless
gaiety of our school days. Life was not com-
plex then, MuUiner. Life in that halcyon
period was free from problems. We were
not faced with the necessity of disappointing
our friends."

" Now hsten, Bish," said Augustine
cheerily, " if you're still worrying about
that hving, forget it. Look at me. I'm
quite chirpy, aren't I ? "

The bishop sighed.

" I wish I had your sunny resihence,
MuUiner. How do you manage it ? "

" Oh, I keep smiUng, and take the Buck-
U-Uppo daily."

" The Buck-U-Uppo ? "

"It's a tonic my uncle Wilfred invented.
Works like magic."

" I must ask you to let me try it one of
these days. For somehow, MuUiner, I am
finding hfe a httle grey. What on earth,"
said the bishop, half to himself and speaking
peevishly, " they wanted to put up a statue

THE BISHOP'S MOVE 109

to old Fatty for, I can't imagine. A fellow
who used to throw inked darts at people.
However," he continued, abruptly abandon-
ing this train of thought, " that is neither
here nor there. If the Board of Governors
of Harchester College has decided that Lord
Kernel of Hempstead has by his services in
the public weal earned a statue, it is not for
us to cavil. Write to Mr. Entwhistle,
Mulliner, and say that I shall be delighted."

Although, as he had told Augustine, fully
twenty years had passed since his last visit
to Harchester, the bishop found, somewhat
to his surprise, that little or no alteration
had taken place in the grounds, buildings
and personnel of the school. It seemed to
him almost precisely the same as it had been
on the day, forty-three years before, when
he had first come there as a new boy.

There was the tuck-shop where, a lissom
stripling with bony elbows, he had shoved
and pushed so often in order to get near the
counter and snaffle a jam-sandwich in the
eleven o'clock recess. There were the baths,
the fives courts, the football fields, the library,
the gymnasium, the gravel, the chestnut trees.

no MEET MR. MULLINER

all just as they had been when the only thing
he knew about bishops was that they wore
bootlaces in their hats.

The sole change that he could see was
that on the triangle of turf in front of the
library there had been erected a granite
pedestal surmounted by a shapeless some-
thing swathed in a large sheet — the statue
to Lord Hemel of Hempstead which he had
come down to unveil.

And gradually, as his visit proceeded,
there began to steal over him an emotion
which defied analysis.

At first he supposed it to be a natural
sentimentality. But, had it been that,
would it not have been a more pleasurable
emotion ? For his feelings had begun to be
far from unmixedly agreeable. Once, when
rounding a comer, he came upon the captain
of football in all his majesty, there had swept
over him a hideous blend of fear and shame
which had made his gaitered legs wobble hke
jellies. The captain of football doffed his
cap respectfully, and the feehng passed as
quickly as it had come : but not so soon that
the bishop had not recognised it. It was
exactly the feeling he had been wont to have

N

THE BISHOP'S MOVE iii

forty-odd years ago when, sneaking softly
away from football practice, he had en-
countered one in authority.

The bishop was puzzled. It was as if
some fairy had touched him with her wand,
sweeping away the years and making him an
inky-faced boy again. Day by day this
illusion grew, the constant society of the Rev.
Trevor Entwhistle doing much to foster it.
For young Catsmeat Entwhistle had been the
bishop's particular crony at Harchester, and
he seemed to have altered his appearance
since those days in no way whatsoever. The
bishop had had a nasty shock when, enter-
ing the headmaster's study on the third
morning of his visit, he found him sitting in
the headmaster's chair with the headmaster's
cap and gown on. It had seemed to him that
young Catsmeat, in order to indulge his dis-
torted sense of humour, was taking the most
frightful risk. Suppose the Old Man were
to come in and cop him !

Altogether, it was a relief to the bishop
when the day of the unveihng arrived.

The actual ceremony, however, he found
both tedious and irritating. Lord Hemel of

112 MEET MR. MULLINER

Hempstead had not been a favourite of his
in their school days, and there was something
extremely disagreeable to him in being
obUged to roll out sonorous periods in his
praise.

In addition to this, he had suffered from
the very start of the proceedings from a bad
attack of stage fright. He could not help
thinking that he must look the most awful
chump standing up there in front of all those
people and spouting. He half expected one
of the prefects in the audience to step up and
clout his head and tell him not to be a funny
young swine.

However, no disaster of this nature
occurred. Indeed, his speech was notably
successful.

" My dear bishop," said old General
Bloodenough, the Chairman of the College
Board of Governors, shaking his hand at the
conclusion of the unveihng, " your magni-
ficent oration put my own feeble efforts to
shame, put them to shame, to shame. You
were astounding ! "

" Thanks awfully," mumbled the bishop,
blushing and shuffling his feet.

The weariness which had come upon the

THE BISHOP'S MOVE 113

bishop as the result of the prolonged cere-
mony seemed to grow as the day wore on.
By the time he was seated in the headmaster's
study after dinner he was in the grip of a
severe headache.

The Rev. Trevor Entwhistle also appeared
jaded.

" These affairs are somewhat fatiguing,
bishop," he said, stifling a yawn.
" They are, indeed. Headmaster."
*' Even the '%y port seems an inefficient
restorative."

" Markedly inefficient. I wonder," said
the bishop, struck with an idea, "if a little
Buck-U-Uppo might not alleviate our ex-
haustion. It is a tonic of some kind which
my secretary is in the habit of taking. It
certainly appears to do him good. A hveher,
more vigorous young fellow I have never
seen. Suppose we ask your butler to go to
his room and borrow the bottle ? I am sure
he will be dehghted to give it to us."
" By all means."

The butler, dispatched to Augustine's
room, returned with a bottle half full of a
thick, dark coloured liquid. The bishop
examined it thoughtfully.

114 MEET MR. MULLINER

" 1 see there are no directions given as to
the requisite dose," he said. '' However, 1
do not Uke to keep disturbing your butler,
who has now doubtless returned to his pantry
and is once more setthng down to the enjoy-
ment of a well-earned rest after a day more
than ordinarily fraught with toil and anxiety.
Suppose we use our own judgment ? "

" Certainly. Is it nasty ? "

The bishop licked the cork warily.

" No. I should not call it nasty. The
taste, while individual and distinctive and
even striking, is by no means disagreeable."

" Then let us take a glassful apiece."

The bishop filled two portly wine-glasses
with the fluid, and they sat sipping gravely.

" It's rather good," said the bishop.

" Distinctly good," said the headmaster.

" It sort of sends a kind of glow over
you."

" A noticeable glow."

" A httle more. Headmaster ? "

" No, I thank you."

" Oh, come."

" Well, just a spot, bishop, if you insist."

" It's rather good," said the bishop.

'' Distinctly good," said the headmaster.

THE BISHOP'S MOVE 115

Now you, who have Hstened to the story
of Augustine's previous adventures with the
Buck-U-Uppo, are aware that my brother
Wilfred invented it primarily with the object
of providing Indian Rajahs with a specific
which would encourage their elephants to
face the tiger of the jungle with a jaunty
sang-froid : and he had advocated as a
medium dose for an adult elephant a tea-
spoonful stirred up with its morning bran-
mash. It is not surprising, therefore, that
after they had drunk two wine-glassfuls
apiece of the mixture the outlook on life of
both the bishop and the headmaster began
to undergo a marked change.

Their fatigue had left them, and with it
the depression which a few moments before
had been weighing on them so heavily.
Both were conscious of an extraordinary
feehng of good cheer, and the odd illusion of
extreme youth which had been upon the
bishop since his arrival at Harchester was
now more pronounced than ever. He felt
a youngish and rather rowdy fifteen.

" Where does your butler sleep, Cats-
meat ? " he asked, after a thoughtful pause.

" I don't know. Why ? "

ii6 MEET MR. MULLINER

" I was only thinking that it would be
a lark to go and put a booby-trap on his
door."

The headmaster's eyes glistened.

" Yes, wouldn't it ! " he said.

They mused for awhile. Then the head-
master uttered a deep chuckle.

" What are you giggling about ? " asked
the bishop.

" I was only thinking what a priceless ass
you looked this afternoon, talking all that
rot about old Fatty."

In spite of his cheerfulness, a frown passed
over the bishop's fine forehead.

" It went very much against the grain to
speak in terms of eulogy — yes, fulsome eulogy
— of one whom we both know to have been
a bhghter of the worst description. Where
does Fatty get off, having statues put up to
him? "

" Oh well, he's an Empire builder, I
suppose," said the headmaster, who was a
fair-minded man.

" Just the sort of thing he would be,"
grumbled the bishop. " Shoving himself
forward ! If ever there was a chap I barred,
it was Fatty."

THE BISHOP'S MOVE 117

Me, too," agreed the headmaster.
Beastly laugh he'd got. Like glue pour-
ing out of a jug."

" Greedy httle beast, if you remember.
A fellow in his house told me he once ate
three shoes of brown boot-poHsh spread on
bread after he had finished the potted meat."

" Between you and me, I always suspected
him of swiping buns at the school shop. I
don't wish to make rash charges unsupported
by true evidence, but it always seemed to me
extremely odd that, whatever time of the
term it was, and however hard up everybody
else might be, you never saw Fatty without
his bun."

'' Catsmeat," said the bishop, " I'll teU
you something about Fatty that isn't gene-
rally known. In a scrum in the final House
Match in the year 1888 he deliberately hoofed
me on the shin."

" You don't mean that ? "

" I do."

" Great Scott ! "

" An ordinary hack on the shin," said the
bishop coldly, " no fellow minds. It is part
of the give and take of normal social hfe.
But when a bounder deliberately hauls off

ii8 MEET MR. MULLINER

and lets drive at you with the sole intention of
laying you out, it — well, it's a bit thick."

"And those chumps of Governors have
put up a statue to him ! "

The bishop leaned forward and lowered
his voice.

" Catsmeat."

" WTiat ? "

" Do you know what ? "

" No, what ? "

" What we ought to do is to wait till
twelve o'clock or so, till there's no one about,
and then beetle out and paint that statue
blue."

" Why not pink ? "

" Pink, if you prefer it."

" Pink's a nice colour."

" It is. Very nice."

" Besides, I know where I can lay my
hands on some pink paint."

" You do ? "

" Gobs of it."

" Peace be on thy walls, Catsmeat, and
prosperity within thy palaces," said the
bishop. " Proverbs cxxi. 6."

It seemed to the bishop, as he closed the

THE BISHOP'S MOVE 119

front door noiselessly behind him two hours
later, that providence, always on the side
of the just, was extending itself in its efforts
to make this little enterprise of his a success.
All the conditions were admirable for statue-
painting. The rain which had been falHng
during the evening had stopped : and a
moon, which might have proved an embarrass-
ment, was conveniently hidden behind a bank
of clouds.

As regarded human interference, they had
nothing to alarm them. No place in the
world is so deserted as the ground of a school
after midnight. Fatty's statue might have
been in the middle of the Sahara. They
climbed the pedestal, and, taking turns
fairly with the brush, soon accompUshed the
task which their sense of duty had indicated
to them. It was only when, treading warily
lest their steps should be heard on the gravel
drive, they again reached the front door that
anything occurred to mar the harmony of
the proceedings.

" What are you waiting for ? " whispered
the bishop, as his companion Hngered on the
top step.

" Half a second," said the headmaster

I20 MEET MR. MULLINER

in a muffled voice. '' It may be in another
pocket."

" What ? "

" My key."

" Have you lost your key ? "

'' I believe I have."

" Catsmeat," said the bishop, with grave
censure, " this is the last time I come out
painting statues with you."

" I must have dropped it somewhere."

" What shall we do ? "

" There's just a chance the scullery
window may be open."

But the scullery window was not open.
Careful, vigilant, and faithful to his trust,
the butler, on retiring to rest, had fastened
it and closed the shutters. They were locked
out.

But it has been well said that it is the
lessons which we learn in our boyhood days
at school that prepare us for the problems of
life in the larger world outside. Stealing
back from the mists of the past, there came
to the bishop a sudden memory.

" Catsmeat ! "

" Hullo ? "
If you haven't been mucking the place

(<

THE BISHOP'S MOVE 121

up with alterations and improvements, there
should be a water-pipe round at the back,
leading to one of the upstairs windows."

Memory had not played him false. There,
nestling in the ivy, was the pipe up and down
which he had been wont to climb when, a
pie-faced lad in the summer of '86, he had
broken out of this house in order to take
nocturnal swims in the river.

" Up you go," he said briefly.

The headmaster required no further
urging. And presently the two were making
good time up the side of the house.

It was just as they reached the window
and just after the bishop had informed his
old friend that, if he kicked him on the head
again, he'd hear of it, that the wdndow was
suddenly flung open.

" Who's that ? " said a clear young voice.

The headmaster was frankly taken aback.
Dim though the light was, he could see that
the man leaning out of the window was
poising in readiness a very nasty-looking golf-
club : and his first impulse was to reveal his
identity and so clear himself of the suspicion
of being the marauder for whom he gathered
the other had mistaken him. Then there

122 MEET MR. MULLINER

presented themselves to him certain ob-
jections to reveaHng his identity, and he
hung there in silence, unable to think of a
suitable next move.

The bishop was a man of readier re-
source.

" Tell him we're a couple of cats belonging
to the cook," he whispered.

It was painful for one of the headmaster's
scrupulous rectitude and honesty to stoop to
such a falsehood, but it seemed the only
course to pursue.

" It's all right," he said, forcing a note
of easy geniality into his voice. " We're a
couple of cats."

" Cat-burglars ? "

" No. Just ordinary cats."

" Belonging to the cook," prompted the
bishop from below.

" Belonging to the cook," added the head-
master.

" I see," said the man at the window.
" Well, in that case, right ho ! "

He stood aside to allow them to enter.
The bishop, an artist at heart, mewed grate-
fully as he passed, to add verisimilitude to
the deception : and then made for his bed-

THE BISHOP'S MOVE 123

room, accompanied by the headmaster. The
episode was apparently closed.

Nevertheless, the headmaster was dis-
turbed by a certain uneasiness.

" Do you suppose he thought we really
were cats ? " he asked anxiously.

"I am not sure," said the bishop.
" But I think we deceived him by the non-
chalance of our demeanour."

" Yes, I think we did. Who was he ? "

" My secretary. The young fellow I was
speaking of, who lent us that capital tonic."

" Oh, then that's all right. He wouldn't
give you away."

" No. And there is nothing else that can
possibly lead to our being suspected. We left
no clue whatsoever."

" All the same," said the headmaster
thoughtfully, " I'm beginning to wonder
whether it was in the best sense of the word
judicious to have painted that statue."

" Somebody had to," said the bishop
stoutly.

" Yes, that's true," said the headmaster,
brightening.

The bishop slept late on the following

124 MEET MR. MULLINER

morning, and partook of his frugal breakfast
in bed. The day, which so often brings
remorse, brought none to him. Something
attempted, something done had earned a
night's repose : and he had no regrets —
except that, now that it was all over, he
was not sure that blue paint would not have
been more effective. However, his old friend
had pleaded so strongly for the pink that it
would have been difficult for himself, as a
guest, to override the wishes of his host.
Still, blue would undoubtedly have been very
striking.

There was a knock on the door, and
Augustine entered.

" Morning, Bish."

" Good-morning, Mulhner," said the
bishop affably. " I have lain somewhat late
to-day."

" I say, Bish," asked Augustine, a Httle
anxiously. " Did you take a very big dose
of the Buck-U-Uppo last night ? "

" Big ? No. As I recollect, quite small.
Barely two ordinary wine-glasses full."

" Great Scott ! "

" Why do you ask, my dear fellow ? "

" Oh, nothing. No particular reason. I

THE BISHOP'S MOVE 125

just thought your manner seemed a Uttle
strange on the water-pipe, that's all."

The bishop was conscious of a touch of
chagrin.

" Then you saw through our — er — in-
nocent deception ? "

" Yes."

" I had been taking a little stroll with the
headmaster," explained the bishop, "and he
had mislaid his key. How beautiful is Nature
at night, MulUner ! The dark, fathomless skies,
the httle winds that seem to whisper secrets
in one's ear, the scent of growing things."

" Yes," said Augustine. He paused.
** Rather a row on this morning. Somebody
appears to have painted Lord Hemel of
Hempstead's statue last night."

" Indeed ? "

" Yes."

" Ah, well," said the bishop tolerantly,
" boys will be boys."

" It's a most mysterious business."

" No doubt, no doubt. But, after all,
MulHner, is not all Life a mystery ? "

" And what makes it still more mysterious
is that they found your shovel-hat on the
statue's head."

126 MEET MR. MULLINER

The bishop started up.

" What ! "

" Absolutely."

" MuUiner," said the bishop, " leave me.
I have one or two matters on which I wish
to meditate."

He dressed hastily, his numbed fingers
fumbling with his gaiters. It all came back
to him now. Yes, he could remember putting
the hat on the statue's head. It had seemed
a good thing to do at the time, and he had
done it. How little we guess at the moment
how far-reaching our most trivial actions
may be !

The headmaster was over at the school,
instructing the Sixth Form in Greek Com-
position : and he was obHged to wait, chafing,
until twelve-thirty, when the bell rang for
the half-way halt in the day's work. He
stood at the study window, watching with
ill-controlled impatience, and presently the
headmaster appeared, walking heavily like
one on whose mind there is a weight.

" Well ? " cried the bishop, as he entered
the study.

The headmaster doffed his cap and gown,
and sank limply into a chair.

THE BISHOP'S MOVE 127

" I cannot conceive," he groaned, *' what
madness had me in its grip last night."

The bishop was shaken, but he could not
countenance such an attitude as this.

" I do not understand you, Headmaster,"
he said stiffly. "It was our simple duty, as
a protest against the undue exaltation of
one whom we both know to have been a
most unpleasant schoolmate, to paint that
statue."

" And I suppose it was your duty to leave
your hat on its head ? "

" Now there," said the bishop, " I may
possibly have gone a little too far." He
coughed. " Has that perhaps somewhat ill-
considered action led to the harbouring of
suspicions by those in authority ? "

" They don't know what to think."

" What is the view of the Board of
Governors ?

" They insist on my finding the culprit.
Should I fail to do so, they hint at the
gravest consequences."

" You mean they will deprive you of your
headmastership ? "

" That is what they imply. I shall be
asked to hand in my resignation. And, if

128 MEET MR. MULLINER

that happens, bim goes my chance of ever
being a bishop."

" Well, it's not all jam being a bishop.
You wouldn't enjoy it, Catsmeat."

" All very well for you to talk, Boko.
You got me into this, you silly ass."

" I hke that ! You were just as keen on
it as I was."

" You suggested it."

*' Well, you jumped at the suggestion."

The two men had faced each other
heatedly, and for a moment it seemed as
if there was to be a serious falhng-out.
Then the bishop recovered himself.

" Catsmeat," he said, with that wonder-
ful smile of his, taking the other's hand, " this
is unworthy of us. We must not quarrel.
We must put our heads together and see if
there is not some avenue of escape from the
unfortunate position in which, however credit-
able our motives, we appear to have placed
ourselves. How would it be ? "

'* I thought of that," said the headmaster.
" It wouldn't do a bit of good. Of course,
we might "

** No, that's no use, either," said the
bishop.

THE BISHOP'S MOVE 129

They sat for awhile in meditative silence.
And, as they sat, the door opened.

" General Bloodenough," announced the
butler.

'* Oh, that I had wings like a dove.
Psalm xlv. 6," muttered the bishop.

His desire to be wafted from that spot
with all available speed could hardly be con-
sidered unreasonable. General Sir Hector
Bloodenough, V.C, K.C.LE., M.V.O., on
retiring from the army, had been for many
years, until his final return to England, in
charge of the Secret Service in Western
Africa, where his unerring acumen had won
for him from the natives the soubriquet
of Wah-nah-B'gosh-B'jingo, — which, freely
translated, means Big Chief Who Can See
Through The Hole In A Doughnut.

A man impossible to deceive. The last
man the bishop would have wished to be
conducting the present investigations.

The general stalked into the room. He
had keen blue eyes, topped by bushy white
eyebrows : and the bishop found his gaze far
too piercing to be agreeable.

" Bad business, this,'' he said. '' Bad
business. Bad business."

130 MEET MR. MULLINER

** It is, indeed," faltered the bishop.
" Shocking bad business. Shocking.
Shocking. Do you know what we found on
the head of that statue, eh ? that statue, that
statue ? Your hat, bishop. Your hat.
Your hat."

The bishop made an attempt to rally.
His mind was in a whirl, for the general's
habit of repeating everything three times had
the effect on him of making his last night's
escapade seem three times as bad. He now
saw himself on the verge of standing con-
victed of having painted three statues with
three pots of pink paint, and of having
placed on the head of each one of a trio of
shovel-hats. But he was a strong man, and
he did his best.

" You say my hat ? " he retorted with
spirit. " How do you know it was my hat ?
There may have been hundreds of bishops
dodging about the school grounds last night."

" Got your name in it. Your name.
Your name."

The bishop clutched at the arm of the
chair in which he sat. The general's eyes
were piercing him through and through, and
every moment he felt more like a sheep that

THE BISHOP'S MOVE 131

has had the misfortune to encounter a potted
meat manufacturer. He was on the point of
protesting that the writing in the hat was
probably a forgery, when there was a tap at
the door.

" Come in," cried the headmaster, who
had been cowering in his seat.

There entered a small boy in an Eton
suit, whose face seemed to the bishop vaguely
familiar. It was a face that closely resembled
a ripe tomato with a nose stuck on it, but
that was not what had struck the bishop.
It was something other than tomatoes that
this lad reminded him.

" Sir, please, sir," said the boy.

" Yes, yes, yes," said General Bloodenough
testily. '* Run away, my boy, run away, run
away. Can't you see we're busy ? "

" But, sir, please, sir, it's about the
statue."

" What about the statue ? What about
it ? What about it ? "

" Sir, please, sir, it was me."

"What! What! What! What!
What ! "

The bishop, the general, and the head-
master had spoken simultaneously : and

132 MEET MR. MULLINER

the " Whats " had been distributed as
follows :

The Bishop i

The General 3

The Headmaster i

making five in all. Having uttered these
ejaculations, they sat staring at the boy, who
turned a brighter vermihon.

" What are you saying ? " cried the head-
master. '' You painted that statue ? "

" Sir, yes, sir."

" You ? " said the bishop.
Sir, yes, sir."

You ? You ? You ? " said the general.
Sir, yes, sir."

There was a quivering pause. The bishop
looked at the headmaster. The headmaster
looked at the bishop. The general looked
at the boy. The boy looked at the floor.

The general was the first to speak.

*' Monstrous ! " he exclaimed. " Mon-
strous, Monstrous. Never heard of such a
thing. This boy must be expelled, Head-
master. Expelled. Ex "

" No ! " said the headmaster in a ringing
voice.

THE BISHOP'S MOVE 133

" Then flogged within an inch of his hfe.
Within an inch. An inch."

" No \ " A strange, new dignity seemed
to have descended upon the Rev. Trevor
Entwhistle. He was breathing a httle quickly
through his nose, and his eyes had assumed a
somewhat prawn-hke aspect. " In matters
of school discipline, general, I must with all
deference claim to be paramount. I will deal
with this case as I think best. In my opinion
this is not an occasion for severity. You
agree with me, bishop ? "

The bishop came to himself with a start.
He had been thinking of an article which he
had just completed for a leading review on
the subject of Miracles, and was regretting
that the tone he had taken, though in keeping
with the trend of Modern Thought, had been
tinged with something approaching scepticism.

" Oh, entirely," he said.

*' Then all I can say," fumed the general,
" is that I wash my hands of the whole
business, the whole business, the whole
business. And if this is the way our boys
are being brought up nowadays, no wonder
the country is going to the dogs, the dogs,
going to the dogs."

134 MEET MR. MULLINER

The door slammed behind him. The
headmaster turned to the boy, a kindly,
winning smile upon his face.

'* No doubt," he said, " you now regret
this rash act ? "

" Sir, yes, sir."

" And you would not do it again ? "

" Sir, no, sir."

" Then I think," said the headmaster
cheerily, " that we may deal leniently with
what, after all, was but a boyish prank, eh,
bishop ? "

" Oh, decidedly. Headmaster."

" Quite the sort of thing — ha, ha ! —
that you or I might have done — er — at his
age?

" Oh, quite."

" Then you shall write me twenty Unes
of Virgil, MuUiner, and we will say no more
about it."

The bishop sprang from his chair.

*' Mulhner ! Did you say MulHner ? "

" Yes."

" I have a secretary of that name. Are
you, by any chance, a relation of his, my
lad ? "

" Sir, yes, sir. Brother."

THE BISHOP'S MOVE 135

*' Oh ! " said the bishop.

The bishop found Augustine in the garden,
squirting whale-oil solution on the rose-
bushes, for he was an enthusiastic horticul-
turist. He placed an affectionate hand on
his shoulder.

" MuUiner," he said, " do not think that
I have not detected your hidden hand
behind this astonishing occurrence."

" Eh ? " said Augustine. " What astonish-
ing occurrence ?

" As you are aware, MuUiner, last night,
from motives which I can assure you were
honourable and in accord with the truest
spirit of sound Churchmanship, the Rev.
Trevor Entwhistle and I were compelled to
go out and paint old Fatty Hemel's statue
pink. Just now, in the headmaster's study,
a boy confessed that he had done it. That
boy, Mulliner, was your brother."

" Oh yes ? "

" It was you who, in order to save me,
inspired him to that confession. Do not deny
it, Mulliner."

Augustine smiled an embarrassed smile.

*' It was nothing, Bish, nothing at all."

E 2

136 MEET MR. MULLINER

" I trust the matter did not involve you
in any too great expense. From what I
know of brothers, the lad was scarcely Hkely
to have carried through this benevolent ruse
for nothing."

" Oh, just a couple of quid. He wanted
three, but I beat him down. Preposterous,
I mean to say," said Augustine warmly.
" Three quid for a perfectly simple, easy job
like that ? And so I told him."

" It shall be returned to you, Mulliner."

"No, no, Bish."

"Yes, Mulliner, it shall be returned to
you. I have not the sum on my person, but
I will forward you a cheque to your new
address. The Vicarage, Steeple Mummery,
Hants."

Augustine's eyes filled with sudden tears.
He grasped the other's hand.

" Bish," he said in a choking voice, " I
don't know how to thank you. But — have
you considered ? "

" Considered ? "

" The wife of thy bosom. Deuteronomy
xiii. 6. What will she say when you tell her ? "

The bishop's eyes gleamed with a resolute
light.

THE BISHOP'S MOVE 137

" Mulliner/' he said, " the point you raise
had not escaped me. But I have the situa-
tion well in hand. A bird of the air shall
carry the voice, and that which hath wings
shall tell the matter. Ecclesiastes x. 20. I
shall inform her of my decision on the long-
distance telephone."

V

CAME THE DAWN

THE man in the corner took a sip of
stout-and-mild, and proceeded to
point the moral of the story which
he had just told us.

"Yes, gentlemen," he said, "Shake-
speare was right. There's a divinity that
shapes our ends, rough-hew them how we
will."

We nodded. He had been speaking of a
favourite dog of his which, entered recently
by some error in a local cat show, had taken
first prize in the class for short-haired
tortoiseshells ; and we all thought the
quotation well-chosen and apposite.

" There is, indeed," said Mr. MulUner.
" A rather similar thing happened to my
nephew Lancelot."

In the nightly reunions in the bar-parlour

13S

CAME THE DAWN 139

of the Anglers' Rest we have been trained to
beheve almost anything of Mr. Mulliner's
relatives, but this, we felt, was a little too
much.

" You mean to say your nephew Lancelot
took a prize at a cat show ? "

" No, no," said Mr. MuUiner hastily.
" Certainly not. I have never deviated from
the truth in my life, and I hope I never shall.
No Mulliner has ever taken a prize at a cat
show. No Mulliner, indeed, to the best of
my knowledge, has even been entered for
such a competition. WTiat I meant was that
the fact that we never know what the future
holds in store for us was well exempUfied in
the case of my nephew Lancelot, just as it
was in the case of this gentleman's dog which
suddenly found itself transformed for all
practical purposes into a short-haired tor-
toiseshell cat. It is rather a curious story,
and provides a good illustration of the adage
that you never can tell and that it is always
darkest before the dawn."

At the time at which my story opens (said
Mr. Mulliner) Lancelot, then twenty-four
years of age and recently come down from

140 MEET MR. MULLINER

Oxford, was spending a few days with old
Jeremiah Briggs, the founder and proprietor
of the famous Briggs's Breakfast Pickles, on
the latter's yacht at Cowes.

This Jeremiah Briggs was Lancelot's uncle
on the mother's side, and he had always in-
terested himself in the boy. It was he who
had sent him to the University ; and it was
the great wish of his heart that his nephew,
on completing his education, should join him
in the business. It was consequently a shock
to the poor old gentleman when, as they sat
together on deck on the first morning of the
visit, Lancelot, while expressing the greatest
respect for pickles as a class, firmly refused
to start in and learn the business from the
bottom up.

" The fact is, uncle," he said, " I have
mapped out a career for myself on far dif-
ferent lines. I am a poet."

'' A poet ? When did you feel this coming
on? "

" Shortly after my twenty-second birth-
day."

" Well," said the old man, overcoming
his first natural feeHng of repulsion, " I
don't see why that should stop us getting

CAME THE DAWN 141

together. I use quite a lot of poetry in my
business."

" I fear I could not bring myself to com-
mercialise my Muse."

" Young man," said Mr. Briggs, " if an
onion with a head like yours came into my
factory, I would refuse to pickle it."

He stumped below, thoroughly incensed.
But Lancelot merely uttered a light laugh.
He was young ; it was summer ; the sky
was blue ; the sun was shining ; and the
things in the world that really mattered were
not cucumbers and vinegar but Romance and
Love. Oh, he felt, for some delightful girl
to come along on whom he might lavish all
the pent-up fervour which had been sizzling
inside him for weeks !

And at this moment he saw her.
She was leaning against the rail of a yacht
that lay at its moorings some forty yards
away ; and, as he beheld her, Lancelot's
heart leaped hke a young gherkin in the
boihng-vat. In her face, it seemed to him,
was concentrated all the beauty of all the
ages. Confronted with this girl, Cleopatra
would have looked like NeUie Wallace, and
Helen of Troy might have been her plain

142 MEET MR. MULLINER

sister. He was still gazing at her in a sort
of trance, when the bell sounded for luncheon
and he had to go below.

All through the meal, while his uncle spoke
of pickled walnuts he had known, Lancelot
remained in a reverie. He was counting the
minutes until he could get on deck and start
goggUng again. Judge, therefore, of his dis-
may when, on bounding up the companion-
way, he found that the other yacht had dis-
appeared. He recalled now having heard a
sort of harsh, grating noise towards the end
of luncheon ; but at the time he had merely
thought it was his uncle eating celery. Too
late he reahsed that it must have been the
raising of the anchor-chain.

Although at heart a dreamer, Lancelot
Mulliner was not without a certain practical
streak. Thinking the matter over, he soon
hit upon a rough plan of action for getting
on the track of the fair unknown who had
flashed in and out of his Ufe with such tragic
abruptness. A girl hke that — beautiful, Us-
som, and—as far as he had been able to tell
at such long range — gimp, was sure to be
fond of dancing. The chances were, there-

CAME THE DAWN 143

fore, that sooner or later he would find her
at some night club or other.

He started, accordingly, to make the
round of the night clubs. As soon as one
was raided, he went on to another. Within
a month he had visited the Mauve Mouse,
the Scarlet Centipede, the Vicious Cheese, the
Gay Fritter, the Placid Prune, the Cafe de
Bologna, Billy's, Milly's, H^e's, Spike's, Mike's,
and the Ham and Beef. And it was at the
Ham and Beef that at last he found her.

He had gone there one evening for the
fifth time, principally because at that estab-
lishment there were a couple of speciaHty
dancers to whom he had taken a dislike
shared by virtually every thinking man in
London. It had always seemed to him that
one of these nights the male member of the
team, while whirUng his partner round in a
circle by her outstretched arms, might let her
go and break her neck ; and though constant
disappointment had to some extent blunted
the first fine enthusiasm of his early visits,
he still hoped.

On this occasion the speciaHty dancers
came and went unscathed as usual, but
Lancelot hardly noticed them. His whole

144 MEET MR. MULLINER

attention was concentrated on the girl seated
across the room immediately opposite him.
It was beyond a question she.

Well, you know what poets are. When
their emotions are stirred, they are not hke
us dull, diffident fellows. They breathe
quickly through their noses and get off to
a flying start. In one bound Lancelot was
across the room, his heart beating till it
sounded hke a by-request solo from the trap-
drummer.

" Shall we dance ? " he said.

" Can you dance ? " said the girl.

Lancelot gave a short, amused laugh. He
had had a good University education, and
had not failed to profit by it. He was a
man who never let his left hip know what his
right hip was doing.

" I am old Colonel Charleston's favourite
son," he said, simply.

A sound hke the sudden descent of an iron
girder on a sheet of tin, followed by a jang-
hng of bells, a wailing of tortured cats, and
the noise of a few steam-riveters at work,
announced to their trained ears that the music
had begun. Sweeping her to him with a
violence which, attempted in any other place,

CAME THE DAWN 145

would have earned him a sentence of thirty
days coupled with some strong remarks from
the Bench, Lancelot began to push her yield-
ing form through the sea of humanity till they
reached the centre of the whirlpool. There,
unable to move in any direction, they sur-
rendered themselves to the ecstasy of the
dance, wiping their feet on the pohshed floor-
ing and occasionally pushing an elbow into
some stranger's encroaching rib.

" This," murmured the girl with closed
eyes, " is divine."

" What ? " bellowed Lancelot, for the
orchestra, in addition to ringing bells, had
now begun to howl like wolves at dinner-time.

" Divine," roared the girl. " You cer-
tainly are a beautiful dancer."

" A beautiful what ? "

" Dancer."

" Who is ? "

" You are."

" Good egg ! " shrieked Lancelot, rather
wishing, though he was fond of music, that
the orchestra would stop beating the floor
with hammers.

" What did you say ? "

" I said, * Good egg.' "

146 MEET MR. MULLINER

" Why ? "

" Because the idea crossed my mind that,
if you felt Uke that, you might care to marry
me."

There was a sudden lull in the storm. It
was as if the audacity of his words had
stricken the orchestra into a sort of paralysis.
Dark-complexioned men who had been ex-
ploding bombs and touching off automobile
hooters became abruptly immobile and sat
roUing their eyeballs. One or two people left
the floor, and plaster stopped falling from the
ceiling.

" Marry you ? " said the girl.

" I love vou as no man has ever loved
woman before."

" Well, that's always something. WTiat
would the name be ? "

" Mulhner. Lancelot Mulliner."

" It might be worse." She looked at him
with pensive eyes. " Well, why not ? " she
said. " It would be a crime to let a dancer
hke you go out of the family. On the other
hand, my father will kick like a mule. Father
is an Earl."

" What Earl ? "

" The Earl of Biddlecombe."

CAME THE DAWN 147

" Well, earls aren't everything," said
Lancelot with a touch of pique. " The Mul-
liners are an old and honourable family. A
Sieur de Moulinieres came over with the
Conqueror."

" Ah, but did a Sieur de Moulinieres ever
do down the common people for a few
hundred thousand and salt it away in gilt-
edged securities ? That's what's going to
count with the aged parent. What with
taxes and super-taxes and death duties and
falling land-values, there has of recent years
been very, very little of the right stuff in
the Biddlecombe sock. Shake the family
money-box and you will hear but the faint-
est rattle. And I ought to tell you that at
the Junior Lipstick Club seven to two is
being freely offered on my marrying Slingsby
Purvis, of Purvis's Liquid Dinner Glue. No-
thing is definitely decided yet, but you can
take it as coming straight from the stable
that, unless something happens to upset cur-
rent form, she whom you now see before you
is the future Ma Purvis."

Lancelot stamped his foot defiantly, eUcit-
ing a howl of agony from a passing reveller.
" This shall not be," he muttered.

148 MEET MR. MULLINER

" If you care to bet against it," said the
girl, producing a small note-book, " I can
accommodate you at the current odds."

" Purvis, forsooth ! "

" I'm not saying it's a pretty name. All
I'm trying to point out is that at the present
moment he heads the ' All the above have
arrived ' hst. He is Our Newmarket Cor-
respondent's Five-Pound Special and Captain
Coe's final selection. What makes you think
you can nose him out ? Are you rich ? "

" At present, only in love. But to-
morrow I go to my uncle, who is immensely
wealthy "

" And touch him ? "

" Not quite that. Nobody has touched
Uncle Jeremiah since the early winter of 1885.
But I shaU get him to give me a job, and then
we shall see."

" Do," said the girl, warmly. " And if
you can stick the gaff into Purvis and work
the Young Lochinvar business, I shall be the
first to touch off red fire. On the other hand,
it is only fair to inform you that at the
Junior Lipstick all the girls look on the race
as a walk-over. None of the big punters will
touch it."

CAME THE DAWN 149

Lancelot returned to his rooms that night
iindiscouraged. He intended to sink his for-
mer prejudices and write a poem in praise
of Briggs's Breakfast Pickles which would mark
a new era in commercial verse. This he
would submit to his uncle ; and, having
stunned him with it, would agree to join the
firm as chief poetry-writer. He tentatively
pencilled down five thousand pounds a year
as the salary which he would demand. With
a long-term contract for five thousand a year
in his pocket, he could approach Lord Biddle-
combe and jerk a father's blessing out of him
in no time. It would be humiliating, of
course, to lower his genius by writing poetry
about pickles ; but a lover must make
sacrifices. He bought a quire of the best
foolscap, brewed a quart of the strongest
coffee, locked his door, disconnected his tele-
phone, and sat down at his desk.

Genial ofd Jeremiah Briggs received him,
when he called next day at liis palatial house,
the Villa Chutney, at Putney, with a bluff
good-humour which showed that he still had
a warm spot in his heart for the young rascal.

" Sit down, boy, and have a pickled

I50 MEET MR. MULLINER

onion," said he, cheerily, slapping Lancelot
on the shoulder. " You've come to tell me
you've reconsidered your idiotic decision
about not joining the business, eh ? No
doubt we thought it a Uttle beneath our
dignity to start at the bottom and work our
way up ? But, consider, my dear lad. We
must learn to walk before we can run, and
you could hardly expect me to make you
chief cucumber-buyer, or head of the vine-
gar-bottling department, before you have
acquired hard-won experience."

"If you will allow me to explain, uncle

" Eh ? " Mr. Briggs's geniahty faded
somewhat. " Am I to understand that you
don't want to come into the business ? "

" Yes and no," said Lancelot. " I stiU
consider that shcing up cucumbers and dip-
ping them in vinegar is a poor hfe-work for
a man with the Promethean fire within him ;
but I propose to place at the disposal of the
Briggs Breakfast Pickle my poetic gifts."

" Well, that's better than nothing. I've
just been correcting the proofs of the last
thing our man turned in. It's really ex-
cellent. Listen :

CAME THE DAWN 151

" Soon, soon all human joys must end :
Grim Death approaches with his sickle :
Courage I There is still time, my friend.
To eat a Briggs's Breakfast Pickle."

" If you could give us something like

that "

Lancelot raised his eyebrows. His hp

curled.

" The Httle thing I have dashed off is not

quite Uke that."

" Oh, you've written something, eh ? "

" A mere morceau. You would care to
hear it ? "

" Fire away, my boy."

Lancelot produced his manuscript and
cleared his throat. He began to read in a
low, musical voice.

"DARKLING (A Threnody).

By L. Bassington Mulliner.

(Copyright in all languages, including the
Scandinavian.)

{The dramatic, musical comedy, and motion

picture rights of this Threnody are strictly

reserved. Applications for these should he

made to the author.) "

152 MEET MR. MULLINER

" What is a Threnody ? " asked Mr. Briggs.

" This is," said Lancelot.

He cleared his throat again and resumed.

" Black branches,

Like a corpse s withered hands,

Waving against the blacker sky :

Chill winds,

Bitter like the tang of half-remembered sins ;

Bats wheeling mournfully through the air,

And on the ground

Worms,

Toads,

Frogs,

And nameless creeping things ;

And all around

Desolation,

Doom,

Dyspepsia,

And Despair.

I am a bat that wheels through the air of

Fate :
I am a worm that wriggles in a swamp of

Disillusionment ;
I am a despairing toad ;
I have got dyspepsia."

He paused. His uncle's eyes were pro-

CAME THE DAWN 153

truding rather like those of a nameless
creeping frog.

" What's all this ? " said Mr. Briggs.

It seemed almost incredible to Lancelot
that his poem should present any aspect of
obscurity to even the meanest intellect ; but
he explained.

" The thing," he said, " is symbolic. It
essays to depict the state of mind of the man
who has not yet tried Briggs's Breakfast
Pickles. I shall require it to be printed in
hand-set type on deep cream-coloured paper."

" Yes ? " said Mr. Briggs, touching the bell.

*' With bevelled edges. It must be pub-
Hshed, of course, bound in limp leather, pre-
ferably of a violet shade, in a limited edition,
confined to one hundred and five copies.
Each of these copies I will sign "

" You rang, sir ? " said the butler, appear-
ing in the doorway.

Mr. Briggs nodded curtly.

" Bewstridge," said he, " throw Mr. Lance-
lot out."

" Very good, sir."

" And see," added Mr. Briggs, superin-
tending the subsequent proceedings from his
Hbrary window, " that he never darkens my

154 MEET MR. MULLINER

doors again. When you have finished, Bew-
stridge, ring up my lawyers on the telephone.
I wish to alter my will."

Youth is a resilient period. With all his
worldly prospects swept away and a large
bruise on his person which made it uncom-
fortable for him to assume a sitting posture,
you might have supposed that the return
of Lancelot MuUiner from Putney would have
resembled that of the late Napoleon from
Moscow. Such, however, was not the case.
What, Lancelot asked himself as he rode back
to civilisation on top of an omnibus, did
money matter ? Love, true love, was aU.
He would go to Lord Biddlecombe and tell
him so in a few neatly-chosen words. And
his lordship, moved by his eloquence, would
doubtless drop a well-bred tear and at once
see that the arrangements for his wedding to
Angela — for such, he had learned, was her
name — were hastened along with all possible
speed. So uphfted was he by this picture
that he began to sing, and would have con-
tinued for the remainder of the journey had
not the conductor in a rather brusque manner
ordered him to desist. He was obliged to

CAME THE DAWN i55

content himself until the bus reached Hyde
Park Corner by singing in dumb show.

The Earl of Biddlecombe's town residence
was in Berkeley Square. Lancelot rang the
bell and a massive butler appeared.

" No hawkers, street criers, or circulars,"

said the butler.

" I wish to see Lord Biddlecombe."

** Is his lordship expecting you ? "

" Yes," said Lancelot, feeUng sure that
the girl would have spoken to her father over
the morning toast and marmalade of a pos-
sible visit from him.

A voice made itself heard through an open
door on the left of the long hall.

" Fotheringay."

" Your lordship ? "

" Is that the feUer ? "

" Yes, your lordship."

" Then bung him in, Fotheringay."

" Very good, your lordship."

Lancelot found himself in a small, com-
fortably-furnished room, confronting a digni-
fied-looking old man with a patrician nose
and small side-whiskers, who looked like some-
thing that long ago had come out of an egg.

'* Afternoon," said this individual.

156 MEET MR. MULLINER

" Good afternoon, Lord Biddlecombe,"
said Lancelot.

" Now, about these trousers."

" I beg your pardon ? "

"These trousers," said the other, extend-
ing a shapely leg. " Do they fit ? Aren't
they a bit baggy round the ankles ? Won't
they jeopardise my social prestige if I am
seen in them in the Park ? "

Lancelot was charmed with his affabiUty.
It gave him the feeling of having been made
one of the family straight av/ay.

" You really want my opinion ? "

*' I do. I want your candid opinion as a
God-fearing man and a member of a West-
end tailoring firm."

" But Lm not."

" Not a God-fearing man ? "

"Not a member of a West-end tailoring
firm."

" Come, come," said his lordship, testily.
" You represent Gusset and Mainprice, of
Cork Street."

" No, I don't."

" Then who the devil are you ? "

" My name is Mulliner."

Lord Biddlecombe rang the bell furiously.

CAME THE DAWN 157

" Fotheringay ! "

" Your lordship ? "

" You told me this man was the feller
I was expecting from Gusset and Mainprice."

" He certainly led me to suppose so, your
lordship."

" Well, he isn't. His name is Mulliner.
And — this is the point, Fotheringay. This
is the core and centre of the thing — what the
blazes does he want ? "

" I could not say, your lordship."

" I came here. Lord Biddlecombe," said
Lancelot, " to ask your consent to my
immediate marriage with your daughter."

" My daughter ? "

" Your daughter."

" Which daughter ? "

" Angela."

" My daughter Angela ? "

" Yes."

" You want to marry my daughter
Angela ? "

" I do."

" Oh ? Well, be that as it may," said
Lord Biddlecombe, " can I interest you in
an ingenious little combination mousetrap
and pencil-sharpener ? "

158 MEET MR. MULLINER

Lancelot was for a moment a little taken
aback by the question. Then, remembering
what Angela had said of the state of the
family finances, he recovered his poise. He
thought no worse of this Grecian-beaked
old man for ekeing out a slender income by
acting as agent for the curious httle object
which he was now holding out to him. Many
of the aristocracy, he was aware, had been
forced into similar commercial enterprises
by recent legislation of a harsh and Sociahstic
trend.

" I should like it above all things," he
said, courteously. " I was thinking only
this morning that it was just what I needed."

" Highly educational. Not a toy.
Fotheringay, book one Mouso-Penso."

" Very good, your lordship."

" Are you troubled at all with headaches,
Mr. Mulhner ? "

" Very seldom."

" Then what you want is Clark's Cure for
Corns. Shall we say one of the large
bottles ? "

" Certainly."

" Then that — with a year's subscription
to ' Our Tots ' — will come to precisely one

CAME THE DAWN 159

pound three shillings and sixpence. Thank
you. Will there be anything further ? "

" No, thank you. Now, touching the
matter of "

<(

You wouldn't care for a scarf-pin ?
Any ties, collars, shirts ? No ? Then good-
bye, Mr. Mulliner."

" But "

" Fotheringay," said Lord Biddlecombe,
*' throw Mr, Mulliner out."

As Lancelot scrambled to his feet from the
hard pavement of Berkeley Square, he was
conscious of a rush of violent anger which
deprived him momentarily of speech. He
stood there, glaring at the house from which
he had been ejected, his face working
hideously. So absorbed was he that it was
some time before he became aware that
somebody was plucking at his coat-sleeve.

" Pardon me, sir."

Lancelot looked round. A stout smooth-
faced man with horn-rimmed spectacles was
standing beside him.

" If you could spare me a moment "

Lancelot shook him off impatiently. He
had no desire at a time like this to chatter
with strangers. The man was babbhng

i6o MEET MR. MULLINER

something, but the words made no impres-
sion upon his mind. With a savage scowl,
Lancelot snatched the fellow's umbrella from
him and, poising it for an instant, flung
it with a sure aim through Lord Biddle-
combe's study window. Then, striding away,
he made for Berkeley Street. Glancing over
his shoulder as he turned the corner, he saw
that Fotheringay, the butler, had come out
of the house and was standing over the
spectacled man with a certain quiet menace
in his demeanour. He was rolling up his
sleeves, and his fingers were twitching a little.

Lancelot dismissed the man from his
thoughts. His whole mind now was con-
centrated on the coming interview with
Angela. For he had decided that the only
thing to do was to seek her out at her club,
where she would doubtless be spending the
afternoon, and plead with her to follow the
dictates of her heart and, abandoning
parents and wealthy suitors, comxC with her
true mate to a life of honest poverty sweet-
ened by love and vers libre.

Arriving at the Junior Lipstick, he
inquired for her, and the hall-porter dis-

CAME THE DAWN i6i

patched a boy in buttons to fetch her
from the biUiard-room, where she was referee-
ing the finals of the Debutantes' Shove-
Ha'penny Tournament. And presently his
heart leaped as he saw her coming towards
him, looking more like a vision of Springtime
than anything human and earthly. She was
smoking a cigarette in a long holder, and as
she approached she inserted a monocle in-
quiringly in her right eye.

" Hullo, laddie ! " she said. '' You here ?
Wliat's on the mind besides hair ? Talk
quick. I've only got a minute."

** Angela," said Lancelot, " I have to
report a slight hitch in the programme which
I sketched out at our last meeting. I have
just been to see my uncle and he has washed
his hands of me and cut me out of his will."

" Nothing doing in that quarter, you
mean ? " said the girl, chewing her lower hp
thoughtfully.

" Nothing. But what of it ? What
matters it so long as we have each other ?
Money is dross. Love is everything. Yes,
love indeed is hght from heaven, a spark of
that immortal fire with angels shared, by
Allah given to Hft from earth our low desire.

1 62 MEET MR. MULLINER

Give me to live with Love alone, and let the
world go dine and dress. If Hfe's a flower,
I choose my own. 'Tis Love in Idleness.
When beauty fires the blood, how love
exalts the mind ! Come, Angela, let us
read together in a book more moving than the
Koran, more eloquent than Shakespeare, the
book of books, the crown of all hterature —
Bradshaw's Railway Guide. We will turn
up a page and you shall put your finger down,
and wherever it rests there we will go, to
five for ever with our happiness. Oh, Angela,
let us "

" Sorry," said the girl. " Purvis wins.
The race goes by the form-book after all.
There was a time when I thought you might
be going to crowd him on the rails and get I
your nose first under the wire with a quick *
last-minute dash, but apparently it is not to
be. Deepest sympathy, old crocus, but that's
that."

Lancelot staggered. j

" You mean you intend to marry this
Purvis ? "

" Pop in about a month from now at
St. George's, Hanover Square, and see for
yourself."

CAME THE DAWN 163

" You would allow this man to buy you
with his gold ? "

" Don't overlook his diamonds."
*' Does love count for nothing ? Surely
you love me ? "

" Of course I do, my desert king. When
you do that flat-footed Black Bottom step
with the sort of wiggly twiggle at the end,
I feel as if I were eating plovers' eggs in a
new dress to the accompaniment of heavenly
music." She sighed. "Yes, I love you,
Lancelot. And women are not hke men.
They do not love hghtly. When a woman
gives her heart, it is for ever. The years
will pass, and you will turn to another.
But I shall not forget. However, as you

haven't a bob in the world " She

beckoned to the hall-porter. "Margerison."
" Your ladyship ? "
" Is it raining ? "
*' No, your ladyship."
** Are the front steps clean ? "
" Yes, your ladyship."
" Then throw Mr. MulHner out."
Lancelot leaned against the raihngs of the
Junior Lipstick, and looked out through a
black mist upon a world that heaved and

i64 MEET MR. MULLINER

rocked and seemed on the point of disinte-
grating into ruin and chaos. And a lot he
would care, he told himself bitterly, if it
did. If Seamore Place from the west and
Charles Street from the east had taken a
running jump and landed on the back of his
neck, it would have added little or nothing to
the turmoil of his mind. In fact, he would
rather have preferred it.

Fury, as it had done on the pavement of
Berkeley Square, robbed him of speech.
But his hands, his shoulders, his brows,
his lips, his nose, and even his eyelashes
seemed to be charged with a silent eloquence.
He twitched his eyebrows in agony. He
twiddled his fingers in despair. Nothing
was left now, he felt, as he shifted the
lobe of his left ear in a nor'-nor'-easterly
direction, but suicide. Yes, he told him-
self, tightening and relaxing the muscles
of his cheeks, all that remained now was
death.

But, even as he reached this awful
decision, a kindly voice spoke in his ear.

" Oh, come now, I wouldn't say that,"
said the kindly voice.

And Lancelot, turning, perceived the

CAME THE DAWN 165

smooth-faced man who had tried to engage
him in conversation in Berkeley Square.

" Say, Hsten," said the smooth-faced man,
sympathy in each lens of his horn-rimmed
spectacles. ** Tempests may lower and a
strong man stand face to face with his soul,
but hope, like a healing herb, will show the
silver lining where beckons joy and life and
happiness."

Lancelot eyed him haughtily.

" I am not aware " he began.

" Say, listen," said the other, laying a
soothing hand on his shoulder. " I know
just what has happened. Mammon has con-
quered Cupid, and once more youth has
had to learn the old, old lesson that though
the face be fair the heart may be cold and
callous."

'' What ? "

The smooth-faced man raised his hand.

" That afternoon. Her apartment. ' No.
It can never be. I shall wed a wealthier
wooer.' "

Lancelot's fury began to dissolve into
awe. There seemed something uncanny in
the way this total stranger had diagnosed
the situation. He stared at him, bewildered.

1 66 MEET MR. MULLINER

" How did you know ? " he gasped.

" You told me."

"I?"

" Your face did. I could read every
word. I've been watching you for the last
two minutes, and, say, boy, it was a wow ! "

" Who are you ? " asked Lancelot.

The smooth-faced man produced from his
waistcoat pocket a fountain-pen, two cigars,
a packet of chewing-gum, a small button
bearing the legend, " Boost for Holtywood,"
and a visiting-card — in the order named.
Replacing the other articles, he handed the
card to Lancelot.

" I'm Isadore Zinzinheimer, kid," he said.
" I represent the Bigger, Better, and Brighter
Motion-Picture Company of Hollywood, Cal.,
incorporated last July for sixteen hundred
miUion dollars. And if you're thinking of
asking me what I want, I want you. Yes,
sir ! Say, listen. A fellow that can register
the way you can is needed in my business ;
and, if you think money can stop me getting
him, name the biggest salary you can think of
and hear me laugh. Boy, I use bank-notes
for summer underclothing, and I don't care
how bad you've got the gimme's if only

CAME THE DAWN 167

you'll sign on the dotted line. Say, listen.
A bozo that with a mere twitch of the upper
lip can make it plain to one and all that he
loves a haughty aristocrat and that she has
given him the air because his rich uncle, who
is a pickle manufacturer living in Putney,
won't have anything more to do with him,
is required out at Hollywood by the next
boat if the movies are ever to become an edu-
cational force in the truest and deepest sense
of the words."

Lancelot stared at him.
" You want me to come to Hollywood ? "
" I want you, and I'm going to get you.
And if you think you're going to prevent
me, you're trying to stop Niagara with a
tennis racket. Boy, you're great ! When
you register, you register. Your face is as
chatty as a board of directors. Say, listen.
You know the great thing we folks in the
motion-picture industry have got to contend
with ? The curse of the motion-picture
industry is that in every audience there are
from six to seven young women with adenoids
who will insist on reading out the titles as
they are flashed on the screen, filhng the rest

of the customers with harsh thoughts and

F 2

1 68 MEET MR. MULLINER

dreams of murder. What we're trying to
collect is stars that can register so well that
titles won't be needed. And, boy, you're
the king of them. I know you're feeling
good and sore just now because that beazle
in there spumed your honest love ; but forget
it. Think of your Art. Think of your
Public. Come now, what shall we say to
start with ? Five thousand a week ? Ten
thousand ? You call the shots, and I'll
provide the blank contract and fountain-
pen."

Lancelot needed no further urging. Al-
ready love had turned to hate, and he no
longer wished to marry Angela. Instead,
he wanted to make her burn with anguish
and vain regrets ; and it seemed to him that
Fate was pointing the way. Pretty silly
the future Lady Angela Purvis would feel
when she discovered that she had rejected
the love of a man with a salary of ten thousand
dollars a week. And fairly foolish her old
father would feel when news reached him of
the good thing he had allowed to get awa}^.
And racking would be the remorse, when he
returned to London as Civilised Girlhood's
Sweetheart and they saw him addressing

CAME THE DAWN 169

mobs from a hotel balcony, of his Uncle
Jeremiah, of Fotheringay, of Bewstridge, and
of Margerison.

A Hght gleamed in Lancelot's eye, and he
rolled the tip of his nose in a circular move-
ment.

** You consent ? " said Mr. Zinzinheimer,
delighted. "'At-a-boy! Here's the pen and
here's the contract."

" Gimme ! " said Lancelot.

A benevolent glow irradiated the other's
spectacles.

" Came the Dawn ! " he murmured.
" Came the Dawn 1 "

VI
THE STORY OF WILLIAM

MISS POSTLETHWAITE, our able and
vigilant barmaid, had whispered
to us that the gentleman sitting
over there in the comer was an American
gentleman.

" Comes from America," added Miss
Postlethwaite, making her meaning clearer.

" From America ? " echoed we.

" From America," said Miss Postlethwaite.
" He's an American."

Mr. MulUner rose with an old-world grace.
We do not often get Americans in the bar-
parlour of the Anglers' Rest. WTien we do,
we welcome them. We make them reaUse
that Hands Across the Sea is no mere phrase.

" Good evening, sir," said Mr. MuUiner.

" I wonder if you would care to join my

friend and myself in a httle refreshment ? "

" Very kind of you, sir."

170

THE STORY OF WILLIAM 171

" Miss Postlethwaite, the usual. I under-
stand you are from the other side, sir. Do
you find our English country-side pleasant ? "

" DeUghtful. Though, of course, if I may
say so, scarcely to be compared with the
scenery of my home State."

" What State is that ? "

" California," replied the other, baring
his head. " California, the Jewel State of
the Union. With its azure sea, its noble
hills, its eternal sunshine, and its fragrant
flowers, CaUfornia stands alone. Peopled by
stalwart men and womanly women ..."

*' CaUfornia would be all right," said Mr.
Mulliner, " if it wasn't for the earthquakes."

Our guest started as though some veno-
mous snake had bitten him.

** Earthquakes are absolutely unknown in
California," he said, hoarsely.

" What about the one in 1906 ? "

" That was not an earthquake. It was a
fire."

" An earthquake, I always understood,"
said Mr. MuUiner. *' My Uncle Wilham was
out there during it, and many a time has he
said to me, ' My boy, it was the San Francisco
earthquake that won me a bride.' "

172 MEET MR. MULLINER

" Couldn't have been the earthquake.
May have been the fire."

** Well, I will tell you the story, and you
shall judge for yourself."

" I shall be glad to hear your story about
the San Francisco fire," said the Cahfornian,
courteously.

My Uncle WiUiam (said Mr. Mulliner)
was returning from the East at the time.
The commercial interests of the Mulliners
have always been far-flung : and he had been
over in China looking into the workings of
a tea-exporting business in which he held a
number of shares. It was his intention to
get off the boat at San Francisco and cross
the continent by rail. He particularly
wanted to see the Grand Canyon of Arizona.
And when he found that Myrtle Banks had
for years cherished the same desire, it seemed
to him so plain a proof that they were twin
souls that he decided to offer her his hand
and heart without delay.

This Miss Banks had been a fellow-
traveller on the boat all the way from Hong-
Kong ; and day by day Wilham MuUiner
had fallen more and more deeply in love with

THE STORY OF WILLIAM 173

her. So on the last day of the voyage, as
they were steaming in at the Golden Gate,
he proposed.

I have never been informed of the exact
words which he employed, but no doubt
they were eloquent. All the Mulliners have
been able speakers, and on such an occasion,
he would, of course, have extended himself.
When at length he finished, it seemed to him
that the girl's attitude was distinctly pro-
mising. She stood gazing over the rail into
the water below in a sort of rapt way.
Then she turned.

" Mr. MulHner,'' she said, " I am greatly
flattered and honoured by what you have
just told me." These things happened, you
will remember, in the days when girls talked
Hke that. '' You have paid me the greatest
compliment a man can bestow on a woman.
And yet . . ."

William MulUner's heart stood still. He
did not Hke that " And yet "

" Is there another ? '' he muttered.

" Well, yes, there is. Mr. Franklyn pro-
posed to me this morning. I told him I
would think it over."

There was a silence. William was telHng

174 MEET MR. MULLINER

himself that he had been afraid of that
bounder Franklyn all along. He might have
known, he felt, that Desmond Franklyn
would be a menace. The man was one of
those lean, keen, hawk-faced, Empire-build-
ing sort of chaps you find out East — the kind
of fellow who stands on deck chewing his
moustache with a far-away look in his eyes,
and then, when the girl asks him what he is
thinking about, draws a short, quick breath
and says he is sorry to be so absent-minded,
but a sunset Uke that always reminds him of
the day when he killed the four pirates with
his bare hands and saved dear old Tuppy
Smithers in the nick of time.

" There is a great glamour about Mr.
Franklyn," said Myrtle Banks. " We women
admire men who do things. A girl cannot
help but respect a man who once killed
three sharks with a Boy Scout pocket-knife."

*' So he says," growled Wilham.

" He showed me the pocket-knife," said
the girl, simply. " And on another occasion
he brought down two lions with one shot."

WiUiam Mulliner's heart was heavy, but
he struggled on.

" Very possibly he may have done these

THE STORY OF WILLIAM 175

things," he said, " but surely marriage means
more than this. Personally, if I were a giri,
I would go rather for a certain steadiness and
stability of character. To illustrate what I
mean, did you happen to see me win the
Egg-and-Spoon race at the ship's sports ?
Now there, it seems to me, in what I might
call microcosm, was an exhibition of all the
qualities a married man most requires —
intense coolness, iron resolution, and a quiet ,
unassuming courage. The man who under
test conditions has carried an eg^ once and a
half times round a deck in a small spoon,
is a man who can be trusted."

She seemed to waver, but only for a
moment.

" I must think," she said. ** I must
think."

"Certainly," said William. *' You will
let me see something of you at the hotel,
after we have landed ? "

" Of course. And if — I mean to say,
whatever happens, I shall always look on
you as a dear, dear friend."

" M'yes," said WiUiam Mulliner.

For three days my Uncle William's stay

176 MEET MR. MULLINER

in San Francisco was as pleasant as could
reasonably be expected, considering that
Desmond Franklyn was also stopping at his
and Miss Banks's hotel. He contrived to
get the girl to himself to quite a satisfactory
extent ; and they spent many happy hours
together in the Golden Gate Park and at the
CUff House, watching the seals basking on
the rocks. But on the evening of the third
day the blow fell.

" Mr. MuUiner,'' said Myrtle Banks, '' I
want to tell you something."

'' Anything," breathed William tenderly,
" except that you are going to marry that
perisher Franklyn."

" But that is exactly what I was going to
tell you, and I must not let you call him a
perisher, for he is a very brave, intrepid
man."

" \Vhen did you decide on this rash act ? "
asked William dully.

** Scarcely an hour ago. W> were talking
in the garden, and somehow or other we got
on to the subject of rhinoceroses. He then
told me how he had once been chased up a
tree by a rhinoceros in Africa and escaped by
throwing pepper in the brute's eyes. He

THE STORY OF WILLIAM 177

most fortunately chanced to be eating his
lunch when the animal arrived, and he had a
hard-boiled egg and the pepper-pot in his
hands. When I heard this story, like Desde-
mona, I loved him for the dangers he had
passed, and he loved me that I did pity them.
The wedding is to be in June."

WilUam MuUiner ground his teeth in a
sudden access of jealous rage.

" Personally," he said, " I consider that
the story you have just related reveals this
man Franklyn in a very dubious — I might
almost say sinister — light. On his own show-
ing, the leading trait in his character appears
to be cruelty to animals. The fellow seems
totally incapable of meeting a shark or a
rhinoceros or any other of our dumb friends
without instantly going out of his way to
inflict bodily injury on it. The last thing I
would wish is to be indelicate, but I cannot
refrain from pointing out that, if your union
is blessed, your children will probably be
the sort of children who kick cats and tie
tin cans to dogs' tails. If you take my
advice, you will write the man a little note,
saying that you are sorry but you have
changed your mind."

178 MEET AIR. MULLINER

The girl rose in a marked manner.

"I do not require your advice, Mr.
Mulliner," she said, coldly. " And I have
not changed my mind."

Instantly WilUam MulHner was all con-
trition. There is a certain stage in the
progress of a man's love when he feels hke
curling up in a ball and making Uttle bleating
noises if the object of his affections so much
as looks squiggle-eyed at him ; and this stage
my Uncle WilUam had reached. He followed
her as she paced proudly away through the
hotel lobby, and stammered incoherent apolo-
gies. But Myrtle Banks was adamant.

" Leave me, Mr. Mulliner," she said,
pointing at the revolving door that led into
the street. " You have maligned a better
man than yourself, and I wish to have
nothing more to do with you. Go ! "

WiUiam went, as directed. And so great
was the confusion of his mind that he got
stuck in the revolving door and had gone
round in it no fewer than eleven times before
the hall-porter came to extricate him.

" I would have removed you from the
machinery earlier, sir," said the hall-porter
deferentially, having deposited him safely

THE STORY OF WILLIAM 179

in the street, " but my bet with my mate
in there called for ten laps. I waited till you
had completed eleven so that there should be
no argument."

William looked at him dazedly.

" Hall-porter," he said.

" Sir ? "

" Tell me, hall-porter," said William,
" suppose the only girl you have ever loved
had gone and got engaged to another, what
would you do ? "

The hall-porter considered.

** Let me get this right," he said. " The
proposition is, if I have followed you correctly,
what would I do supposing the Jane on whom
I had always looked as a steady mamma had
handed me the old skimmer and told me to
take all the air I needed because she had
gotten another sweetie ? "

'' Precisely."

" Your question is easily answered," said
the hall-porter. " I would go around the
corner and get me a nice stiff drink at Mike's
Place."

" A drink ? "

" Y^es, sir. A nice stiff one."

" At — where did you say ? "

i8o MEET MR. MULLINER

" Mike's Place, sir. Just round the
corner. You can't miss it."

William thanked him and walked away.
The man's words had started a new, and in
many ways interesting, train of thought.
A drink ? And a nice stiff one ? There
might be something in it.

WilUam Mulliner had never tasted alcohol
in his hfe. He had promised his late mother
that he would not do so until he was either
twenty-one or forty-one— he could never
remember which. He was at present twenty-
nine ; but wishing to be on the safe side
in case he had got his figures wrong, he had
remained a teetotaller. But now, as he
walked listlessly along the street towards
the corner, it seemed to him that his mother
in the special circumstances could not reason-
ably object if he took a shght snort. He
raised his eyes to heaven, as though to ask
her if a couple of quick ones might not be
permitted ; and he fancied that a faint,
far-off voice whispered, " Go to it ! "

And at this moment he found himself
standing outside a brightly-lighted saloon.

For an instant he hesitated. Then, as a
twinge of anguish in the region of his broken

THE STORY OF WILLIAM i8i

heart reminded him of the necessity for imme-
diate remedies, he pushed open the swing
doors and went in.

The principal feature of the cheerful,
brightly-lit room in which he found himself
was a long counter, at which were standing
a number of the citizenry, each with an elbow
on the woodwork and a foot upon the neat
brass rail which ran below. Behind the
counter appeared the upper section of one of
the most benevolent and kindly-looking men
that William had ever seen. He had a
large smooth face, and he wore a white coat,
and he eyed WilUam, as he advanced, with a
sort of reverent joy.

" Is this Mike's Place ? " asked William.

Yes, sir," repHed the white-coated man.

Are you Mike ? "

No, sir. But I am his representative,
and have full authority to act on his behalf.
What can I have the pleasure of doing for
you ? "

Theman'swhole attitude made him seem so
like a large-hearted elder brother that William
felt no diffidence about confiding in him. He
placed an elbow on the counter and a foot on
the rail, and spoke with a sob in his voice.

1 82 MEET MR. MULLINER

" Suppose the only girl you had ever
loved had gone and got engaged to another,
what in your view would best meet the case ? "

The gentlemanly bar-tender pondered for
some moments.

"Well," he replied at length, " I advance
it, you understand, as a purely personal
opinion, and I shall not be in the least offended
if you decide not to act upon it ; but my
suggestion — for what it is worth — is that you
try a Dynamite Dew-Drop."

One of the crowd that had gathered
sympathetically round shook his head. He
was a charming man with a black eye, who
had shaved on the preceding Thursday.

" Much better give him a Dreamland
Special."

A second man, in a sweater and a cloth
cap, had yet another theory.

'* You can't beat an Undertaker's Joy."

They were all so perfectly delightful
and appeared to have his interests so un-
selfishly at heart that William could not
bring himself to choose between them. He
solved the problem in diplomatic fashion
by playing no favourites and ordering all
three of the beverages recommended.

THE STORY OF WILLIAM 183

The effect was instantaneous and grati-
fying. As he drained the first glass, it
seemed to him that a torchlight procession,
of whose existence he had hitherto not been
aware, had begun to march down his throat
and explore the recesses of his stomach.
The second glass, though sHghtly too heavily
charged with molten lava, was extremely
palatable. It helped the torchUght proces-
sion along by adding to it a brass band of
singular power and sweetness of tone. And
with the third somebody began to touch off
fireworks inside his head.

WiUiam felt better — not only spiritually
but physically. He seemed to himself to be
a bigger, finer man, and the loss of Myrtle
Banks had somehow in a flash lost nearly
all its importance. After all, as he said to
the man with the black eye. Myrtle Banks
wasn't everybody.

" Now what do you recommend ? " he
asked the man with the sweater, having
turned the last glass upside down.

The other mused, one fore-finger thought-
fully pressed against the side of his face.

" Well, I'll tell you," he said. " When
my brother Elmer lost his girl, he drank

184 MEET MR. MULLINER

straight rye. Yes, sir. That's what he
drank — straight rye. 'I've lost my girl,'
he said, ' and I'm going to drink straight
rye.' That's what he said. Yes, sir, straight
rye."

" And was your brother Elmer," asked
WilUam, anxiously, " a man whose example
in your opinion should be followed ? Was
he a man you could trust ? "

" He owned the biggest duck-farm in
the southern half of IlUnois."

" That settles it," said Wilham. " What
was good enough for a duck who owned half
Illinois is good enough for me. Obhge me,"
he said to the gentlemanly bar-tender, " by
asking these gentlemen what they will have,
and start pouring."

The bar-tender obeyed, and WiUiam,
having tried a pint or two of the strange
liquid just to see if he liked it, found that he
did, and ordered some. He then began to
move about among his new friends, patting
one on the shoulder, slapping another affabty
on the back, and asking a third what his
Christian name was.

** I want you all," he said, climbing on to
the counter so that his voice should carry

THE STORY OF WILLIAM 185

better, " to come and stay with me in Eng-
land. Never in my life have I met men whose
faces I liked so much. More like brothers
than anything is the way I regard you. So
just you pack up a few things and come along
and put up at my little place for as long as
you can manage. You particularly, my dear
old chap," he added, beaming at the man in
the sweater.

'* Thanks," said the man with the sweater.

" What did you say ? " said Wilham.

•' I said, ' Thanks.' "

William slowly removed his coat and
rolled up his shirt-sleeves.

" I call you gentlemen to witness," he
said, quietly, " that I have been grossly
insulted by this gentleman who has just
grossly insulted me. I am not a quarrelsome
man, but if anybody wants a row they can
have it. And when it comes to being cursed
and sworn at by an ugly bounder in a sweater
and a cloth cap, it is time to take steps."

And with these spirited words William
Mulliner sprang from the counter, grasped
the other by the throat, and bit him sharply
on the right ear. There was a confused
interval, during which somebody attached

i86 MEET MR. MULLINER

himself to the collar of William's waistcoat
and the seat of WiUiam's trousers, and then a
sense of swift movement and rush of cool air.

WiUiam discovered that he was seated
on the pavement outside the saloon. A
hand emerged from the swing door and
threw his hat out. And he was alone with
the night and his meditations.

These were, as you may suppose, of a
singularly bitter nature. Sorrow and dis-
illusionment racked Wilham MulHner hke a
physical pain. That his friends inside there,
in spite of the fact that he had been all
sweetness and hght and had not done a thing
to them, should have thrown him out into the
hard street was the saddest thing he had ever
heard of ; and for some minutes he sat there,
weeping silently.

Presently he heaved himself to his feet
and, placing one foot with infinite deUcacy
in front of the other, and then drawing the
other one up and placing it with infinite
dehcacy in front of that, he began to walk
back to his hotel.

At the comer he paused. There were
some raihngs on his right. He clung to them
and rested awhile.

THE STORY OF WILLIAM 187

The railings to which WilUam MuUiner
had attached himself belonged to a brown-
stone house of the kind that seems destined
from the first moment of its building to
receive guests, both resident and transient,
at a moderate weekly rental. It was, in
fact, as he would have discovered had he
been clear-sighted enough to read the card
over the door, Mrs. Beulah O'Brien's
Theatrical Boarding-House ("A Home From
Home — No Cheques Cashed — This Means
You").

But William was not in the best of shape
for reading cards. A sort of mist had ob-
scured the world, and he was finding it diffi-
cult to keep his eyes open. And presently,
his chin wedged into the railings, he fell into
a dreamless sleep.

He was awakened by hght flashing in his
eyes ; and, opening them, saw that a window
opposite where he was standing had become
brightly illuminated. His slumbers had
cleared his vision ; and he was able to observe
that the room into which he was looking was
a dining-room. The long table was set for
the evening meal ; and to WiUiam, as he
gazed, the sight of that cosy apartment, with

i88 MEET MR. MULLINER

the gaslight faUing on the knives and forks
and spoons, seemed the most pathetic and
poignant that he had ever beheld.

A mood of the most extreme sentiment-
ality now had him in its grip. The thought
that he would never own a little home like
that racked him from stem to stern with an
almost unbearable torment. What, argued
Wilham, clinging to the raihngs and crying
weakly, could compare, when you came
right down to it, with a little home ? A
man with a little home is all right, whereas
a man without a little home is just a bit of
flotsam on the ocean of life. If Myrtle
Banks had only consented to marry him,
he would have had a little home. But she
had refused to marry him, so he would never
have a little home. Wliat Myrtle Banks
wanted, felt William, was a good swift clout
on the side of the head.

The thought pleased him. He was feeling
physically perfect again now, and seemed
to have shaken off completely the sUght
indisposition from which he had been suffer-
ing. His legs had lost their tendency to act
independently of the rest of his body. His
head felt clearer, and he had a sense of

THE STORY OF WILLIAM 189

overwhelming strength. If ever, in short,
there was a moment when he could administer
that clout on the side of the head to Myrtle
Banks as it should be administered, that
moment was now.

He was on the point of moving off to find
her and teach her what it meant to stop a
man hke himself from having a little home,
when some one entered the room into which he
was looking, and he paused to make further
inspection.

The new arrival was a coloured maid-
servant. She staggered to the head of the
table beneath the weight of a large tureen
containing, so William suspected, hash. A
moment later a stout woman with bright
golden hair came in and sat down opposite
the tureen.

The instinct to watch other people eat
is one of the most deeply implanted in the
human bosom, and WilUam lingered, intent.
There was, he told himself, no need to hurry.
He knew which was Myrtle's room in the hotel.
It was just across the corridor from his own.
He could pop in any time, during the night,
and give her that clout. Meanwhile, he
wanted to watch these people eat hash.

190 MEET MR. MULLINER

And then the door opened again, and
there filed into the room a httle procession.
And William, clutching the railings, watched
it with bulging eyes.

The procession was headed by an elderly
man in a check suit with a carnation in his
buttonhole. He was about three feet six in
height, though the military jauntiness with
which he carried himself made him seem
fully three feet seven. He was followed by
a younger man who wore spectacles and
whose height was perhaps three feet four.
And behind these two came, in single file,
six others, scalmg down by degrees until,
bringing up the rear of the procession, there
entered a rather stout man in tweeds and
bedroom slippers who could not have
measured more than two feet eight.

They took their places at the table.
Hash was distributed to all. And the man
in tweeds, having inspected his plate with
obvious rehsh, removed his slippers and,
picking up his knife and fork with his toes,
fell to with a keen appetite.

WiUiam MuUiner uttered a soft moan,
and tottered away.

It was a black moment for my Uncle

THE STORY OF WILLIAM 191

William. Only an instant before he had been
congratulating himself on having shaken off
the effects of his first indulgence in alcohol
after an abstinence of twenty-nine years ; but
now he perceived that he was still intoxicated.

Intoxicated ? The word did not express
it by a mile. He was oiled, boiled, fried,
plastered, whiffled, sozzled, and blotto. Only
by the exercise of the most consummate
caution and address could he hope to get
back to his hotel and reach his bedroom
without causing an open scandal.

Of course, if his walk that night had
taken him a few yards farther down the
street than the door of Mike's Place, he would
have seen that there was a very simple expla-
nation of the spectacle which he had just
witnessed. A walk so extended would have
brought him to the San Francisco Palace of
Varieties, outside which large posters pro-
claimed the exclusive engagement for two
weeks of

MURPHY'S MIDGETS.

Bigger and Better than Ever.

But of the existence of these posters he
was not aware ; and it is not too much to

193 MEET MR. MULLINER

say that the iron entered into William
Mulliner's soul.

That his legs should have become tempo-
rarily unscrewed at the joints was a pheno-
menon which he had been able to bear
with fortitude. That his head should be
feehng as if a good many bees had de-
cided to use it as a hive was unpleasant,
but not unbearably so. But that his brain
should have gone off its castors and be
causing him to see visions was the end of all
things.

WiUiam had always prided himself on
the keenness of his mental powers. All
through the long voyage on the ship, when
Desmond Franklyn had related anecdotes
illustrative of his prowess as a man of Action,
WiUiam MuUiner had always consoled him-
self by feeling that in the matter of brain
he could give Franklyn three bisques and a
beating any time he chose to start. And
now, it seemed, he had lost even this ad-
vantage over his rival. For Franklyn, dull-
witted clod though he might be, was not such
an absolute minus quantity that he would
imagine he had seen a man of two feet eight
cutting up hash with his toes. That hideous

THE STORY OF WILLIAM 193

depth of mental decay had been reserved for
WilUam MuUiner.

Moodily he made his way back to his
hotel. In a corner of the Palm Room he
saw Myrtle Banks deep in conversation with
Franklyn, but all desire to give her a clout
on the side of the head had now left him.
With his chin sunk on his breast, he entered
the elevator and was carried up to his room.

Here as rapidly as his quivering fingers
would permit, he undressed ; and, chmbing
into the bed as it came round for the second
time, lay for a space with wide-open eyes.
He had been too shaken to switch his hght
off, and the rays of the lamp shone on the
handsome ceiling which undulated above him.
He gave himself up to thought once more.

No doubt, he felt, thinking it over now,
his mother had had some very urgent reason
for withholding him from alcoholic drink.
She must have known of some family secret,
sedulously guarded from his infant ears —
some dark tale of a fatal MuUiner taint.
*' William must never learn of this ! " she
had probably said when they told her the old
legend of how every MuUiner for centuries
back had died a maniac, victim at last to the

194 MEET MR. MULLINER

fatal fluid. And to-night, despite her gentle
care, he had found out for himself.

He saw now that this derangement of his
eyesight was only the first step in the gradual
dissolution which was the Mulhner Curse.
Soon his sense of hearing would go, then his
sense of touch.

He sat up in bed. It seemed to him that,
as he gazed at the ceiling, a considerable
section of it had parted from the parent body
and fallen with a crash to the floor.

Wilham MuUiner stared dumbly. He
knew, of course, that it was an illusion. But
what a perfect illusion ! If he had not had
the special knowledge which he possessed, he
would have stated without fear of contra-
diction that there was a gap six feet wide
above him and a mass of dust and plaster
on the carpet below.

And even as his eyes deceived him, so
did his ears. He seemed to be conscious of a
babel ot screams and shouts. The corridor,
he could have sworn, was full of flying feet.
The world appeared to be all bangs and
crashes and thuds. A cold fear gripped at
William's heart. His sense of hearing was
playing tricks with him already.

THE STORY OF WILLIAM 195

His whole being recoiled from making
the final experiment, but he forced himself
out of bed. He reached a finger towards
the nearest heap of plaster and drew it back
with a groan. Yes, it was as he feared, his
sense of touch had gone wrong too. That
heap of plaster, though purely a figment of his
disordered brain, had felt solid.

So there it was. One little moderately
festive evening at Mike's Place, and the
Curse of the MuUiners had got him. Within
an hour of absorbing the first drink of his
life, it had deprived him of his sight, his
hearing, and his sense of touch. Quick
service, felt William Mulliner.

As he cHmbed back into bed, it appeared
to him that two of the walls fell out. He
shut his eyes, and presently sleep, which has
been well called Tired Nature's Sweet Re-
storer, brought oblivion. His last waking
thought was that he imagined he had heard
another wall go.

WilHam Mulliner was a sound sleeper, and
it was many hours before consciousness
returned to him. When he awoke, he looked
about him in astonishment. The haunting
horror of the night had passed ; and now,

196 MEET MR. MULLINER

though conscious of a rather severe headache,
he knew that he was seeing things as they
were.

And yet it seemed odd to think that what
he beheld was not the remains of some
nightmare. Not only was the world slightly
yellow and a bit blurred about the edges, but
it had changed in its very essentials overnight.
Where eight hours before there had been a
wall, only an open space appeared, with
bright sunhght streaming through it. The
ceihng was on the floor, and almost the only
thing remaining of what had been an ex-
pensive bedroom in a first-class hotel was the
bed. Very strange, he thought, and very
irregular.

A voice broke in upon his meditations.

" Why, Mr. MuUiner ! "

William turned, and being, like all the
Mulhners, the soul of modesty, dived abruptly
beneath the bed-clothes. For the voice was
the voice of Myrtle Banks. And she was in
his room !

" Mr. MuUiner ! "

William poked his head out cautiously.
And then he perceived that the proprieties
had not been outraged as he had imagined.

THE STORY OF WILLIAM 197

Miss Banks was not in his room, but in the
corridor. The intervening wall had dis-
appeared. Shaken, but reHeved, he sat up
in bed, the sheet drawn round his shoulders.

" You don't mean to say you're still in
bed ? " gasped the girl.

" Why, is it awfully late ? " said WilUam.

" Did you actually stay up here all
through it ? "

" Through what ? "

" The earthquake."

" What earthquake ? "

" The earthquake last night."

'' Oh, that earthquake ? " said William,
carelessly. " I did notice some sort of an
earthquake. 1 remember seeing the ceiling
come down and saying to myself, ' I shouldn't
wonder if that wasn't an earthquake.' And
then the walls fell out, and I said, * Yes, I
beUeve it is an earthquake.' And then I
turned over and went to sleep."

Myrtle Banks was staring at him with
eyes that reminded him partly of twin stars
and partly of a snail's.

** You must be the bravest man in the
world ! "

William gave a curt laugh.

198 MEET MR. MULLINER

" Oh, well," he said, " I may not spend
my whole Ufe persecuting unfortunate sharks
with pocket-knives, but I find I generally
manage to keep my head fairly well in a
crisis. We Mulliners are like that. We do
not say much, but we have the right stuff
in us."

He clutched his head. A sharp spasm
had reminded him how much of the right
stuff he had in him at that moment.

" My hero ! " breathed the girl, almost
inaudibly.

" And how is your fiance this bright,
sunny morning ? " asked William, non-
chalantly. It was torture to refer to the
man, but he must show her that a MuUiner
knew how to take his medicine.

She gave a Httle shudder.

" I have no fiance," she said.

" But I thought you told me you and
Frankly n ..."

" I am no longer engaged to Mr. Franklyn.
Last night, when the earthquake started, I
cried to him to help me ; and he with a hasty
' Some other time ! ' over his shoulder, dis-
appeared into the open hke something shot
out of a gun. I never saw a man run so fast.

THE STORY OF WILLIAM 199

This morning I broke off the engagement."
She uttered a scornful laugh.

" Sharks and pocket-knives ! I don't be-
lieve he ever killed a shark in his hfe."

"And even if he did," said Wilham,
" what of it ? I mean to say, how in-
frequently in married life must the necessity
for kiUing sharks with pocket-knives arise !
What a husband needs is not some purely
adventitious gift like that — a parlour trick,
you might almost call it — but a steady
character, a warm and generous disposition,
and a loving heart."

" How true ! " she murmured, dreamily.

" Myrtle," said WiUiam, " I would be a
husband like that. The steady character,
the warm and generous disposition, and
the loving heart to which I have alluded
are at your disposal. Will you accept
them ? "

" I will," said Myrtle Banks.

And that (concluded Mr. MuUiner) is the

story of my Uncle WilUam's romance. And

you will readily understand, having heard

it, how his eldest son, my cousin, J. S. F. E.

MulUner, got his name.

G 2

200 MEET MR. MULLINER

" J. S. F. E. ? " I said.

''John San Francisco Earthquake
MulHner," explained my friend.

" There never was a San Francisco earth-
quake," said the Cahfomian. " Only a
fire."

VII
PORTRAIT OF A DISCIPLINARIAN

IT was with something of the rehef of fog-
bound city-dwellers who at last behold
the sun that we perceived, on entering
the bar-parlour of the Anglers' Rest, that
Mr. MuUiner was seated once more in the
familiar chair. For some days he had been
away, paying a visit to an old nurse of his
down in Devonshire : and there was no
doubt that in his absence the tide of
intellectual conversation had run very
low.

" No," said Mr. MulUner, in answer to a
question as to whether he had enjoyed
himself, " I cannot pretend that it was an
altogether agreeable experience. I was con-
scious throughout of a sense of strain. The
poor old thing is almost completely deaf, and
her memory is not what it was. Moreover,

20I

202 MEET MR. MULLINER

it is a moot point whether a man of sensi-
bility can ever be entirely at his ease in the
presence of a woman who has frequently
spanked him with the flat side of a hair-
brush."

Mr. MuUiner winced sUghtly, as if the
old wound still troubled him.

''It is curious," he went on, after a
thoughtful pause, '' how httle change the
years bring about in the attitude of a real,
genuine, crusted old family nurse towards
one who in the early knickerbocker stage of
his career has been a charge of hers. He may
grow grey or bald and be looked up to by the
rest of his world as a warm performer on the
Stock Exchange or a devil of a fellow in the
sphere of PoUtics or the Arts, but to his old
Nanna he will still be the Master James or
Master Percival who had to be hounded by
threats to keep his face clean. Shakespeare
would have cringed before his old nurse. So
would Herbert Spencer, Attila the Hun,
and the Emperor Nero. My nephew Frede-
rick . . . but I must not bore you with my
family gossip."

We reassured him.

" Oh well, if you wish to hear the story.

PORTRAIT OF A DISCIPLINARIAN 203

There is nothing much in it as a story, but it
bears out the truth of what I have just been
saying."

I will begin (said Mr. Mulhner) at the
moment when Frederick, having come down
from London in response to an urgent sum-
mons from his brother. Doctor George
Mulliner, stood in the latter's consulting-
room, looking out upon the Esplanade of
that quiet little watering-place, Bingley-on-
Sea.

George's consulting-room, facing west,
had the advantage of getting the afternoon
sun : and this afternoon it needed all the sun
it could get, to counteract Frederick's extra-
ordinary gloom. The young man's expres-
sion, as he confronted his brother, was that
which a miasmic pool in some dismal swamp
in the Bad Lands might have worn if it had
had a face.

"Then the position, as I see it," he said
in a low, toneless voice, " is this. On the
pretext of wishing to discuss urgent family
business with me, you have dragged me down
to this foul spot — seventy miles by rail in a
compartment containing three distinct infants

204 MEET MR. MULLINER

sucking sweets — merely to have tea with a
nurse whom I have disUked since I was a
child."

" You have contributed to her support
for many years," George reminded him.

" Naturally, when the family were club-
bing together to pension off the old blister, I
chipped in with my little bit," said Frederick.
" Noblesse obHge."

" Well, noblesse obUges you to go and have
tea with her when she invites you. Wilks
must be humoured. She is not so young as
she was."

" She must be a hundred."

" Eighty-five."

" Good heavens ! And it seems only
yesterday that she shut me up in a cupboard
for stealing jam."

" She was a great disciplinarian," agreed
George. " You may find her a little on the
autocratic side still. And I want to impress
upon you, as her medical man, that you must
not thwart her lightest whim. She will
probably offer you boiled eggs and home-
made cake. Eat them."

" I will not eat boiled eggs at five o'clock
in the afternoon," said Frederick, with a

PORTRAIT OF A DISCIPLINARIAN 205

strong man's menacing calm, " for any woman
on earth."

" You will. And with rehsh. Her heart
is weak. If you don't humour her, I won't
answer for the consequences."

" If I eat boiled eggs at five in the after-
noon, I won't answer for the consequences.
And why boiled eggs, dash it ? I'm not a
schoolboy."

" To her you are. She looks on all of us
as children still. Last Christmas she gave
me a copy of Eric, or Little by Little."

Frederick turned to the window, and
scowled down upon the noxious and depress-
ing scene below. Sparing neither age nor
sex in his detestation, he regarded the old
ladies reading their library novels on the
seats with precisely the same dislike and
contempt which he bestowed on the boys'
school clattering past on its way to the
bathing-houses.

" Then, checking up your statements,"
he said, " I find that I am expected to go to
tea with a woman who, in addition, appa-
rently, to being a blend of Lucretia Borgia
and a Prussian sergeant-major, is a physical
wreck and practically potty. WTiy ? That

2o6 MEET MR. MULLINER

is what I ask. Why ? As a child, I objected
strongly to Nurse Wilks : and now, grown to
riper years, the thought of meeting her again
gives me the heeby-jeebies. Why should I
be victimised ? Why me particularly ? "

" It isn't you particularly. We've all
been to see her at intervals, and so have the
OUphants."

'' The Oliphants ! "

The name seemed to affect Frederick
oddly. He winced, as if his brother had been
a dentist instead of a general practitioner and
had just drawn one of his back teeth.

" She was their nurse after she left us.
You can't have forgotten the Ohphants. I
remember you at the age of twelve climbing
that old elm at the bottom of the paddock
to get Jane Oliphant a rook's egg."

Frederick laughed bitterly.

" I must have been a perfect ass. Fancy
risking my hfe for a girl Hke that ! Not," he
went on, *' that life's worth much. An
absolute wash-out, that's what Hfe is. How-
ever, it will soon be over. And then the
silence and peace of the grave. That,"
said Frederick, " is the thought that sustains

me."

PORTRAIT OF A DISCIPLINARIAN 207

" A pretty kid, Jane. Some one told me
she had grown up quite a beauty."

" Without a heart."

" What do you know about it ? "

" Merely this. She pretended to love me,
and then a few months ago she went off to
the country to stay with some people named
Ponderby and wrote me a letter breaking off
the engagement. She gave no reasons, and
I have not seen her since. She is now
engaged to a man named Dillingwater, and
I hope it chokes her."

" I never heard about this. I'm sorry."

" I'm not. Merciful release is the way
I look at it."

" Would he be one of the Sussex DiUing-
waters ? "

" I don't know what county the family
infests. If I did, I would avoid it."

" Well, I'm sorry. No wonder you're
depressed."

'' Depressed ? " said Frederick, outraged.
" Me ? You don't suppose I'm wonying
myself about a girl Hke that, do you ? I've
never been so happy in my life. I'm just
bubbling over with cheerfulness."

'' Oh, is that what it is ? " George looked

2o8 MEET MR. MULLINER

at his watch. '' Well, you'd better be push-
ing along. It'll take you about ten minutes
to get to Marazion Road."

" How do I find the blasted house ? "

" The name's on the door."

" What is the name ? "

'* Wee Holme."

" My God ! " said Frederick Mulhner.
*' It only needed that ! "

The view which he had had of it from his
brother's window should, no doubt, have
prepared Frederick for the hideous loath-
someness of Bingley-on-Sea : but, as he
walked along, he found it coming on him as a
complete surprise. Until now he had never
imagined that a small town could possess
so many soul-searing features. He passed
httle boys, and thought how repulsive Httle
boys were. He met tradesmen's carts, and
his gorge rose at the sight of them. He
hated the houses. And, most of all, he
objected to the sun. It shone down wdth
a cheeriness which was not only offensive
but, it seemed to Frederick Mulhner, dehbe-
rately offensive. What he wanted was wail-
ing winds ard driving rain : not a beastly
expanse of vivid blue. It was not that the

PORTRAIT OF A DISCIPLINARIAN 209

perfidy of Jane Oliphant had affected him in
any way : it was simply that he disliked blue
skies and sunshine. He had a tempera-
mental antipathy for them, just as he had a
temperamental fondness for tombs and sleet
and hurricanes and earthquakes and famines
and pestilences and . . .

He found that he had arrived in Marazion

Road.

Marazion Road was made up of two
spotless pavements stretching into the middle
distance and flanked by two rows of neat
httle red-brick villas. It smote Frederick
Hke a blow. He felt as he looked at those
houses, with their httle brass knockers and
Httle white curtains, that they were occupied
by people who knew nothing of Frederick
Mulhner and were content to know notliing ;
people who were simply not caring a whoop
that only a few short months before the girl
to whom he had been engaged had sent
back his letters and gone and madly got
herself betrothed to a man named DilHng-
water.

He found Wee Holme, and hit it a nasty
slap with its knocker. Footsteps sounded in
the passage, and the door opened.

210 MEET MR. MULLINER

" Why, Master Frederick ! " said Nurse
Wilks. " I should hardly have known you."

Frederick, in spite of the natural gloom
caused by the blue sky and the warm sun-
shine, found his mood hghtening somewhat.
Something that might almost have been a
spasm of tenderness passed through him.
He was not a bad-hearted young man — he
ranked in that respect, he supposed, some-
where mid-way between his brother George,
who had a heart of gold, and people like the
future Mrs. Dillingwater, who had no heart
at all — and there was a fragihty about Nurse
Wilks that first astonished and then touched
him.

The images w^hich we form in childhood
are slow to fade : and Frederick had been
under the impression that Nurse Wilks w^as
fully six feet tall, with the shoulders of a
weight-lifter and eyes that glittered cruelly
beneath beethng brows. Wliat he saw now
was a little old woman with a wrinkled face,
who looked as if a puff of wind would blow
her away.

He was oddly stirred. He felt large
and protective. He saw his brother's point
now. Most certainly this frail old thing

PORTRAIT OF A DISCIPLINARIAN 211

must be humoured. Only a brute would
refuse to humour her — yes, felt Frederick
Mulliner, even if it meant boiled eggs at five
o'clock in the afternoon.

" Well, you are getting a big boy ! " said
Nurse Wilks, beaming.

" Do you think so ? " said Frederick, with
equal amiability.

" Quite the little man ! And all dressed
up. Go into the parlour, dear, and sit down.
I'm getting the tea."

" Thanks."

" Wipe your boots ! "

The voice, thundering from a quarter
whence hitherto only soft cooings had pro-
ceeded, affected Frederick Mulliner a little
Hke the touching off of a mine beneath his
feet. Spinning round he perceived a different
person altogether from the mild and kindly
hostess of a moment back. It was plain
that there yet Hngered in Nurse Wilks not a
httle of the ancient fire. Her mouth was
tightly compressed and her eyes gleamed
dangerously.

' * Theideaof yourbringingyoumastydirty-
bootsintomynicecleanhousewithoutwiping-
them ! " said Nurse Wilks.

212 MEET MR. MULLINER

" Sorry ! " said Frederick humbly.

He burnished the criticised shoes on the
mat, and tottered to the parlour. He felt
much smaller, much younger and much
feebler than he had felt a minute ago. His
morale had been shattered into fragments.

And it was not pieced together by the
sight, as he entered the parlour, of Miss Jane
OUphant sitting in an armchair by the
window.

It is hardly to be supposed that the reader
will be interested in the appearance of a girl
of the stamp of Jane Oliphant — a girl capable
of wantonly returning a good man's letters
and going off and getting engaged to a
DiUingwater : but one may as well describe
her and get it over. She had golden-brown
hair ; golden-brown eyes ; golden-brown eye-
brows ; a nice nose with one freckle on the
tip ; a mouth which, when it parted in a
smile, disclosed pretty teeth ; and a resolute
httle chin.

At the present moment, the mouth was
not parted in a smile. It was closed up tight,
and the chin was more than resolute. It
looked like the ram of a very small battle-
ship. She gazed at Frederick as if he were

PORTRAIT OF A DISCIPLINARIAN 213

the smell of onions, and she did not say a
word.

Nor did Frederick say very much. No-
thing is more difficult for a young man than
to find exactly the right remark with which
to open conversation with a girl who has
recently returned his letters. (Darned good
letters, too. Reading them over after open-
ing the package, he had been amazed at their
charm and eloquence.)

Frederick, then, confined his observations
to the single word " Guk ! " Having uttered
this, he sank into a chair and stared at the
carpet. The girl stared out of window : and
complete silence reigned in the room till from
the interior of a clock which was ticking on the
mantelpiece a small wooden bird suddenly
emerged, said " Cuckoo," and withdrew.

The abruptness of this bird's appearance
and the oddly staccato nature of its diction
could not but have their effect on a man
whose nerves were not what they had been.
Frederick MulHner, rising some eighteen
inches from his chair, uttered a hasty ex-
clamation.

" I beg your pardon ? " said Jane OH-
phant, raising her eyebrows.

214 MEET MR. MULLINER

" Well, how was I to know it was going
to do that ? " said Frederick defensively.

Jane Oliphant shrugged her shoulders.
The gesture seemed to imply supreme in-
difference to what the sweepings of the Under-
world knew or did not know.

But Frederick, the ice being now in a
manner broken, refused to return to the
silence.

" What are you doing here ? " he said.

" I have come to have tea with Nanna."

" I didn't know you were going to be here."

" Oh ? "

" If I'd known that you were going to be
here . . ."

" You've got a large smut on your nose."

Frederick gritted his teeth and reached
for his handkerchief.

" Perhaps I'd better go," he said.

" You wiU do nothing of the kind," said
Miss OUphant sharply. " She is looking
forward to seeing you. Though why ..."

" Why ? " prompted Frederick coldly.

"Oh, nothing."

In the unpleasant silence which followed,
broken only by the deep breathing of a man
who was trying to choose the rudest out of the

PORTRAIT OF A DISCIPLINARIAN 215
three retorts which had presented themselves
to him, Nurse Wilks entered.

" It's just a suggestion," said Miss Oli-
phant aloofly, " but don't you think you
might help Nanna with that heavy tray ? "

Frederick, roused from his preoccupation,
sprang to his feet, blushing the blush of
shame.

" You might have strained yourself,
Nanna," the girl went on, in a voice dripping
with indignant sympathy.

" I was going to help her," mumbled
Frederick.

" Yes, after she had put the tray down on
the table. Poor Nanna ! How very heavy
it must have been."

Not for the first time since their acquaint-
ance had begun, Frederick felt a sort of wistful
wonder at his erstwhile fiancee's uncanny
abihty to put him in the wrong. His
emotions now were rather what they
would have been if he had been detected
striking his hostess with some blunt in-
strument.

" He always was a thoughtless boy," said
Nurse Wilks tolerantly. " Do sit down,
Master Frederick, and have your tea. Fve

2i6 MEET MR. MULLINER

boiled some eggs for you. I know what a
boy you always are for eggs."

Frederick, starting, directed a swift glance
at the tray. Yes, his worst fears had been
realised. Eggs — and large ones. A stomach
which he had fallen rather into the habit of
pampering of late years gave a little whimper
of apprehension.

" Yes," proceeded Nurse Wilks, pursuing
the subject, " you never could have enough
eggs. Nor cake. Dear me, how sick you
made yourself with cake that day at Miss
Jane's birthday party."

" Please ! " said Miss Oliphant, with a
slight shiver.

She looked coldly at her fermenting fellow-
guest, as he sat plumbing the deepest abysses
of self-loathing.

" No eggs for me, thank you," he said.

" Master Frederick, you will eat your
nice boiled eggs," said Nurse Wilks. Her
voice was still amiable, but there was a hint
of dynamite behind it.

" I don't want any eggs."

" Master Frederick ! " The dynamite ex-
ploded. Once again that amazing trans-
formation had taken place, and a frail httle

PORTRAIT OF A DISCIPLINARIAN 217

old woman had become an intimidating
force with which only a Napoleon could
have reckoned. " I will not have this

sulking."

Frederick gulped.

"I'm sorry," he said, meekly. " I should
enjoy an egg."

" Two eggs," corrected Nurse Wilks.

" Two eggs," said Frederick.

Miss Ohphant twisted the knife in the
wound.

" There seems to be plenty of cake, too.
How nice for you ! Still, I should be careful,
if I were you. It looks rather rich. I never
could understand," she went on, addressing
Nurse Wilks in a voice which Frederick,
who was now about seven years old, con-
sidered insufferably grown-up and affected,
*' why people should find any enjoyment in
stuffing and gorging and making pigs of
themselves."

" Boys will be boys," argued Nurse Wilks.

" I suppose so," sighed Miss Ohphant.
" Still, it's all rather unpleasant."

A slight but well-defined glitter appeared
in Nurse Wilks' eyes. She detected a ten-
dency to hoighty-toightiness in her young

21 8 MEET MR. MULLINER

guest's manner, and hoighty-toightiness was
a thing to be checked.

" Girls," she said, " are by no means
perfect."

" Ah ! " breathed Frederick, in rapturous
adhesion to the sentiment.

" Girls have their little faults. Girls are
sometimes incHned to be vain. I know a
little girl not a hundred miles from this room
who was so proud of her new panties that she
ran out in the street in them."

" Nanna ! " cried Miss Oliphant pinkly.

" Disgusting ! " said Frederick.

He uttered a short laugh : and so full was
this laugh, though short, of scorn, disdain,
and a certain hideous mascuHne superiority,
that Jane Oliphant's proud spirit writhed
beneath the infliction. She turned on him
with blazing eyes.

" What did you say ? "

" I said ' Disgusting I ' "

" Indeed ? "

" I cannot," said Frederick judicially,
' ' imagine a more deplorable exhibition, and I
hope you were sent to bedwithout any supper."

" If you ever had to go without your
supper," said Miss OHphant, who beUeved in

PORTRAIT OF A DISCIPLINARIAN 219

attack as the best form of defence, " it would
kill you."

" Is that so ? " said Frederick.

" You're a beast, and I hate you," said
Miss Ohphant.

" Is that so ? "

" Yes, that is so."

" Now, now, now," said Nurse Wilks.
" Come, come, come ! "

She eyed the two with that comfortable
look of power and capability which comes
naturally to women who have spent half a
century in deaUng with the young and
fractious.

" We will have no quarrelling," she said.
" Make it up at once. Master Frederick,
give Miss Jane a nice kiss."

The room rocked before Frederick's bulg-
ing eyes.

" A what ? " he gasped.

** Give her a nice big kiss and tell her
you're sorry you quarrelled with her."

" She quarrelled with me."

** Never mind. A little gentleman must
always take the blame."

Frederick, working desperately, dragged
to the surface a sketchy smile.

220 MEET MR. MULLINER

" I apologise," he said.

" Don't mention it," said Miss Oliphant.

" Kiss her," said Nurse Wilks.

*' I won't ! " said Frederick.

" What ! "

'' I won't."

** Master Frederick," said Nurse Wilks,
rising and pointing a menacing finger, " you
march straight into that cupboard in the
passage and stay there till you are good."

Frederick hesitated. He came of a proud
family. A MuUiner had once received the
thanks of his Sovereign for services rendered
on the field of Crecy. But the recollection
of what his brother George had said decided
him. Infra dig. as it might be to allow
himself to be shoved away in cupboards, it
was better than being responsible for a
woman's heart-failure. With bowed head
he passed through the door, and a key cHcked
behind him.

All alone in a dark world that smelt of
mice, Frederick Mulhner gave himself up to
gloomy reflection. He had just put in about
two minutes' intense thought of a kind which
would have made the meditations of Scho-
penhauer on one of his bad mornings seem

PORTRAIT OF A DISCIPLINARIAN 221

like the day-dreams of Polyanna, when a
voice spoke through the crack in the door.

*' Freddie. I mean Mr. MuUiner."

" Well ? "

" She's gone into the kitchen to get the
jam," proceeded the voice rapidly. " Shall
I let you out ? "

" Pray do not trouble," said Frederick
coldly. " I am perfectly comfortable."

Silence followed. Frederick returned to
his reverie. About now, he thought, but for
his brother George's treachery in luring him
down to this plague-spot by a misleading
telegram, he would have been on the twelfth
green at Squashy Hollow, trying out that
new putter. Instead of which . . .

The door opened abruptly, and as abruptly
closed again. And Frederick Mulhner, who
had been looking forward to an unbroken
solitude, discovered with a good deal of
astonishment that he had started taking in
lodgers.

" What are you doing here ? " he
demanded, with a touch of proprietorial
disapproval.

The girl did not answer. But presently
muffled sounds came to him through the

t(

((

222 MEET MR. MULLINER

darkness. In spite of himself, a certain
tenderness crept upon Frederick.

" I say," he said awkwardly. " There's
nothing to cry about."

I'm not crying. I'm laughing."
Oh ? " The tenderness waned. " You
think it's amusing, do you, being shut up in
this damned cupboard ..."

" There is no need to use bad language."
" "I entirely disagree with you. There is
every need to use bad language. It's ghastly
enough being at Bingley-on-Sea at all, but
when it comes to being shut up in Bingley
cupboards ..."

"... with a girl you hate ? "

" We will not go into that aspect of the
matter," said Frederick with dignity. " The
important point is that here I am in a cup-
board at Bingley-on-Sea when, if there were
any justice or right-thinking in the world, I
should be out at Squashy Hollow ..."

" Oh ? Do you still play golf ? "

" Certainly I still play golf. Why not ? "

" I don't know why not. I'm glad you
are still able to amuse yourself."

" How do you mean, still ? Do you
think that just because . . . ? "

PORTRAIT OF A DISCIPLINARIAN 223

" I don't think anything."

" I suppose you imagined I would be
creeping about the place, a broken-hearted
wreck ? "

" Oh no. I knew you would find it very
easy to console yourself."

" What do you mean by that ? "

" Never mind."

" Are you insinuating that I am the sort
of man who turns hghtly from one woman to
another — a mere butterfly who flits from
flower to flower, sipping . . . ? "

" Yes, if you want to know, I think you
are a bom sipper."

Frederick started. The charge was
monstrous.

" I have never sipped. And, what's more,
I have never flitted."

" That's funny."

" What's funny ? "

" What you said."

" You appear to have a very keen sense
of humour," said Frederick weightily. " It
amuses you to be shut up in cupboards. It
amuses you to hear me say ..."

" Well, it's nice to be able to get some
amusement out of hfe, isn't it ? Do you

H

224 MEET MR. MULLINER

want to know why she shut me up in
here ? "

" I haven't the shghtest curiosity.
Why ? "

" I forgot where I was and Hghted a
cigarette. Oh, my goodness ! "

" Now what ? "

" I thought I heard a mouse. Do you
think there are mice in this cupboard ? "

" Certainly," said Frederick. " Dozens
of them."

He would have gone on to specify the
kind of mice, — large, fat, shthery, active
mice : but at this juncture something hard
and sharp took him agonisingly on the
ankle.

" Ouch ! " cried Frederick.

" Oh, Fm sorry. Was that you ? "

" It was."

" I was kicking about to discourage the
mice."

" I see."

" Did it hurt much ? "

" Only a trifle more than blazes, thank
you for inquiring."

" Fm sorry."

" So am 1."

PORTRAIT OF A DISCIPLINARIAN 225

" Anyway, it would have given a mouse a
nasty jar, if it had been one, w^ouldn't it ? "

" The shock, I should imagine, of a life-
time."

" Well, I'm sorry."

" Don't mention it. Why should I worry
about a broken ankle, when ..."

" When what ? "

" I forget what I was going to say."

" When your heart is broken ? "

" My heart is not broken." It was a
point which Frederick wished to make lumin-
ously clear. " I am gay . . . happy . . .
Who the devil is this man Dillingwater ? "
he concluded abruptly.

There was a momentary pause.

" Oh, just a man."

" Where did you meet him ? "

"At the Ponderbys'."

" Where did you get engaged to him ? "

" At the Ponderbys'."

" Did you pay another visit to the
Ponderbys, then ? "

"No."

Frederick choked.

" When you went to stay with the
Ponderbys, you were engaged to me. Do

226 MEET MR. MULLINER

you mean to say you broke off your engage-
ment to me, met this Dillingwater, and got
engaged to him all in the course of a single
visit lasting barely two weeks ? "

" Yes."

Frederick said nothing. It struck him
later that he should have said " Oh, Woman,
Woman ! " but at the moment it did not
occur to him.

" I don't see what right you have to
criticise me," said Jane.

" W^ho criticised you ? "

" You did."

" When ? "

" Just then."

" I call Heaven to witness," cried
Frederick Mulliner, " that not by so much as
a single word have I hinted at my opinion
that your conduct is the vilest and most
revolting that has ever been drawn to my
attention. I never so much as suggested
that your revelation had shocked me to the
depths of my soul."

*' Yes, you did. You sniffed."

" If Bingley-on-Sea is not open for being
sniffed in at this season," said Frederick
coldly; " I should have been informed earher."

PORTRAIT OF A DISCIPLINARIAN 227

" I had a perfect right to get engaged to
any one I liked and as quick as I liked, after
the abominable way you behaved,"

" Abominable way 1 behaved ? What
do you mean ? "

" You know."

** Pardon me, I do not know. If you
are alluding to my refusal to wear the tie you
bought for me on my last birthday, I can
but repeat my statement, made to you at
the time, that, apart from being the sort of
tie no upright man would be seen dead in a
ditch with, its colours were those of a CycUng,
Angling, and Dart-Throwing club of which
I am not a member."

" I am not alluding to that. I mean the
day I was going to the Ponderbys' and you
promised to see me off at Paddington, and
then you 'phoned and said you couldn't
as you were detained by important business,
and I thought, well, I think Til go by the
later train after all because that will give me
time to lunch quietly at the Berkeley, and I
went and lunched quietly at the Berkeley, and
when I was there who should I see but you
at a table at the other end of the room
gorging yourself in the company of a beastly

228 MEET MR. MULLINER

creature in a pink frock and henna'd hair.
That's what I mean."

Frederick clutched at his forehead.

" Repeat that," he exclaimed.

Jane did so.

" Ye gods ! " said Frederick.

" It was Uke a blow over the head. Some-
thing seemed to snap inside me, and ..."

" I can explain all," said Frederick.

Jane's voice in the darkness was cold.

" Explain ? " she said.

" Explain," said Frederick.

" All ? "

"AU."

Jane coughed.

" Before beginning," she said, *' do not
forget that I know every one of your female
relatives by sight."

" I don't want to talk about my female
relatives."

" I thought you were going to say that
she was one of them — an aunt or something."

" Nothing of the kind. She was a revue
star. You probably saw her in a piece called
'Toot-Toot.'"

" And that is your idea of an explana-
tion ! "

PORTRAIT OF A DISCIPLINARIAN 229 |

Frederick raised his hand for silence.
Reahsing that she could not see it, he lowered
it again.

" Jane," he said in a low, throbbing
voice, " can you cast your mind back to a
morning in the spring when we walked, you
and I, in Kensington Gardens ? The sun
shone brightly, the sky was a limpid blue
flecked with fleecy clouds, and from the
west there blew a gentle breeze ..."

" If you think you can melt me with that
sort of . . ."

*' Nothing of the kind. What I was
leading up to was this. As we walked, you
and I, there came snuffling up to us a small
Pekingese dog. It left me, I admit, quite
cold, but you went into ecstasies : and from
that moment I had but one mission in Hfe,
to discover who that Peke belonged to and
buy it for you. And after the most
exhaustive inquiries, I tracked the animal
down. It was the property of the lady in
whose company you saw me lunching —
hghtly, not gorging — at the Berkeley that
day. I managed to get an introduction to
her, and immediately began to make offers to
her for the dog. Money was no object to

230 MEET MR. MULLINER

me. All I wished was to put the Httle beast
in your arms and see your face light up. It
was to be a surprise. That morning the
woman 'phoned, and said that she had
practically decided to close with my latest
bid, and would I take her to lunch and discuss
the matter ? It was agony to have to ring
you up and tell you that I could not see you
off at Paddington, but it had to be done.
It was anguish having to sit for two hours
Hstening to that highly-coloured female telling
me how the comedian had ruined her big
number in her last show by standing up-
stage and pretending to drink ink, but that
had to be done too. I bit the bullet and
saw it through and 1 got the dog that after-
noon. And next morning I received your
letter breaking off the engagement."

There was a long silence.

" Is this true ? " said Jane.

" Quite true."

" It sounds too — how shall I put it ? —
too frightfully probable. Look me in the
face ! "

" What's the good of looking you in the
face when I can't see an inch in front of me ? "

" WeU, is it true ? "

PORTRAIT OF A DISCIPLINARIAN 231

" Certainly it is true."

" Can you produce the Peke ? "

" I have not got it on my person," said

Frederick stiffly. " But it is at my flat,

probably chewing up a valuable rug. I will

give it you for a wedding present."

" Oh, Freddie ! "

" A wedding present," repeated Frederick,

though the words stuck in his throat Uke

patent American health-cereal.

" But I'm not going to be married."

" You're — what did you say ? "

"I'm not going to be married."

" But what of DilHngwater ? "

"That's off."

" Off? "

"Off," said Jane firmly. "I only got

engaged to him out of pique. I thought I

could go through with it, buoying myself up

by thinking what a score it would be off you,

but one morning I saw him eating a peach

and I began to waver. He splashed himself

to the eyebrows. And just after that I

found that he had a trick of making a sort of

funny noise when he drank coffee. I would

sit on the other side of the breakfast table,

looking at him and saying to myself ' Now

H 2

232 MEET MR. MULLINER

comes the funny noise ! ' and when I thought
of doing that all the rest of my life I saw that
the scheme was impossible. So I broke off
the engagement."

Frederick gasped.

" Jane ! "

He groped out, found her, and drew her
into his arms.

" Freddie ! "

" Jane ! "

" Freddie ! "

" Jane ! "

" Freddie ! "

" Jane ! "

On the panel of the door there sounded
an authoritative rap. Through it there spoke
an authoritative voice, shghtly cracked by
age but full, nevertheless, of the spirit that
wil] stand no nonsense.

" Master Frederick."

" HuUo ? "

" Are you good now ?

" You bet Fm good."

" Will you give Miss Jane a nice kiss ? "

" I will do," said Frederick MulHner,
enthusiasm ringing in every syllable, " just
that httle thing ! "

PORTRAIT OF A DISCIPLINARIAN 233

" Then you may come out," said Nurse
Wilks. " I have boiled you two more eggs."

Frederick paled, but only for an instant.
What did anything matter now ? His hps
were set in a firm line, and his voice, when
he spoke, was calm and steady.

" Lead me to them," he said.

VIII

THE ROMANCE OF A BULB-SQUEEZER

SOMEBODY had left a copy of an illus-
trated weekly paper in the bar-
parlour of the Anglers' Rest ; and,
glancing through it, I came upon the ninth
full-page photograph of a celebrated musical
comedy actress that I had seen since the
preceding Wednesday. This one showed her
looking archly over her shoulder with a rose
between her teeth, and I flung the periodical
from me with a stifled cry.

" Tut, tut ! " said Mr. Mulliner, repro-
vingly. " You must not allov/ these things
to affect you so deeply. Remember, it is
not actresses' photographs that matter, but
the courage which we bring to them."

He sipped his hot Scotch.

I wonder if you have ever reflected

234

THE ROMANCE OF A BULB-SQUEEZER 235

(he said gravely) what Ufe must be Uke for
the men whose trade it is to make these
pictures ? Statistics show that the two
classes of the community which least often
marry are milkmen and fashionable photo-
graphers—milkmen because they see women
too early in the morning, and fashionable
photographers because their days are spent
in an atmosphere of feminine loveUness so
monotonous that they become surfeited and
morose. I know of none of the world's
workers whom I pity more sincerely than the
fashionable photographer ; and yet— by one
of those strokes of irony which make the
thoughtful man waver between sardonic
laughter and sympathetic tears — it is the
ambition of every youngster who enters the
profession some day to become one.

At the outset of his career, you see, a
young photographer is sorely oppressed by
human gargoyles : and gradually this begins
to prey upon his nerves.

" Why is it," I remember my cousin
Clarence saying, after he had been about
a year in the business, " that all these misfits
want to be photographed ? Why do men
with faces which you would have thought

236 MEET MR. MULLINER

they would be anxious to hush up wish
to be strewn about the country on what-
nots and in albums ? I started out full of
ardour and enthusiasm, and my eager soul
is being crushed. This morning the Mayor
of Tooting East came to make an appoint-
ment. He is coming to-morrow afternoon
to be taken in his cocked hat and robes of
office ; and there is absolutely no excuse
for a man with a face like that perpetuating
his features. I wish to goodness I was one
of those fellows who only take camera-
portraits of beautiful women."

His dream was to come true sooner than
he had imagined. Within a week the great
test-case of Biggs v. Mulliner had raised my
cousin Clarence from an obscure studio in
West Kensington to the position of London's
most famous photographer.

You possibly remember the case ? The
events that led up to it were, briefly, as
follows : —

Jno. Horatio Biggs, O.B.E., the newly-
elected Mayor of Tooting East, alighted from
a cab at the door of Clarence MulUner's
studio at four-ten on the afternoon of June
the seventeenth. At four-eleven he went in.

THE ROMANCE OF A BULB-SQUEEZER 237

And at four-sixteen and a half he was observed
shooting out of a first-floor window, vigor-
ously assisted by my cousin, who was
prodding him in the seat of the trousers with
the sharp end of a photographic tripod.
Those who were in a position to see stated
that Clarence's face was distorted by a fury
scarcely human.

Naturally the matter could not be ex-
pected to rest there. A week later the case
of Biggs V. MulUner had begun, the plaintiff
claiming damages to the extent of ten
thousand pounds and a new pair of trousers.
And at first things looked very black for
Clarence.

It was the speech of Sir Joseph Bodger,
K.C., briefed for the defence, that turned the
scale.

** I do not," said Sir Joseph, addressing
the jury on the second day, '' propose to
deny the charges which have been brought
against my cUent. We freely admit that on
the seventeenth inst. we did jab the defen-
dant with our tripod in a manner calculated to
cause alarm and despondency. But, gentle-
men, we plead justification. The whole case
turns upon one question. Is a photographer

238 MEET MR. MULLINER

entitled to assault — either with or, as the
case may be, without a tripod — a sitter who,
after being warned that his face is not up to
the minimum standard requirements, insists
upon remaining in the chair and moistening
the lips with the tip of the tongue ? Gentle-
men, I say Yes !

" Unless you decide in favour of my
client, gentlemen of the jury, photographers
— debarred by law from the privilege of
rejecting sitters — will be at the mercy of
anyone who comes along with the price of a
dozen photographs in his pocket. You have
seen the plaintiff. Biggs. You have noted
his broad, slab-Hke face, intolerable to any
man of refinement and sensibiUty. You
have observed his walrus moustache, his
double chin, his protruding eyes. Take
another look at him, and then tell me if my
cUent was not justified in chasing him with a
tripod out of that sacred temple of Art and
Beauty, his studio.

" Gentlemen, I have finished. I leave
my client's fate in your hands with every
confidence that you will return the only
verdict that can conceivably issue from
twelve men of your obvious intelhgence,

THE ROiMANCE OF A BULB-SQUEEZER 239

your manifest sympathy, and your superb
breadth of vision."

Of course, after that there was nothing to
it. The jury decided in Clarence's favour
without leaving the box ; and the crowd
waiting outside to hear the verdict carried
him shoulder-high to his house, refusing to
disperse until he had made a speech and
sung Photographers never, never, never shall
be slaves. And next morning every paper
in England came out with a leading article
commending him for having so courageously
established, as it had not been estabhshed
since the days of Magna Charta, the funda-
mental principle of the Liberty of the
Subject.

The effect of this pubhcity on Clarence's
fortunes was naturally stupendous. He had
become in a flash the best-known photo-
grapher in the United Kingdom, and was
now in a position to realise that vision which
he had of taking the pictures of none but the
beaming and the beautiful. Every day the
lovehest ornaments of Society and the Stage
flocked to his studio ; and it was with the
utmost astonishment, therefore, that, caUing

240 MEET MR. MULLINER

upon him one morning on my return to
England after an absence of two years in the
East, I learned that Fame and Wealth had
not brought him happiness.

I found him sitting moodily in his studio,
staring with dull eyes at a camera-portrait
of a well-known actress in a bathing-suit.
He looked up listlessly as I entered.

" Clarence ! " I cried, shocked at his
appearance, for there were hard hues about
his mouth and wrinkles on a forehead that
once had been smooth as alabaster. *' What
is wrong ? "

" Everything," he rephed, "I'm fed up."

" What with ? "

" Life. Beautiful women. This beastly
photography business."

I was amazed. Even in the East rumours
of his success had reached me, and on my
return to London I found that they had not
been exaggerated. In every photographers'
club in the Metropohs, from the Negative
and Solution in Pall Mall to the humble
pubHc-houses frequented by the men who
do your pictures while you wait on the
sands at seaside resorts, he was being freely
spoken of as the logical successor to the

THE ROMANCE OF A BULB-SQUEEZER 241

Presidency of the Amalgamated Guild of
Bulb-Squeezers.

** I can't stick it much longer," said
Clarence, tearing the camera-portrait into a
dozen pieces with a dry sob and burying his
face in his hands. " Actresses nursing their
dolls ! Countesses simpering over kittens !
Film stars among their books ! In ten
minutes I go to catch a train at Waterloo. I
have been sent for by the Duchess of Hamp-
shire to take some studies of Lady Monica
Southboume in the castle grounds."

A shudder ran through him. I patted
him on the shoulder. I understood now.

" She has the most brilhant smile in
England," he whispered.

" Come, come ! "

" Coy yet roguish, they tell me."

" It may not be true."

'' And I bet she will want to be taken
offering a lump of sugar to her dog, and
the picture will appear in The Sketch and
Tatler as ' Lady Monica Southboume and
Friend.' "

*' Clarence, this is morbid."

He was silent for a moment.

** Ah, well," he said, pulUng himself

242 MEET MR. MULLINER

together with a visible effort, " I have made
my sodium sulphite, and I must lie in it."

I saw him off in a cab. The last view I
had of him was of his pale, drawn profile.
He looked, I thought, like an aristocrat of
the French Revolution being borne off to his
doom on a tumbril. How httle he guessed
that the only girl in the world lay waiting
for him round the corner.

No, you are wrong. Lady Monica did
not turn out to be the only girl in the world.
If what I said caused you to expect that, I
misled you. Lady Monica proved to be all
his fancy had pictured her. In fact even
more. Not only was her smile coy yet
roguish, but she had a sort of coquettish
droop of the left eyehd of which no one had
warned him. And, in addition to her two
dogs, which she was portrayed in the act of
feeding with two lumps of sugar, she pos-
sessed a totally unforeseen pet monkey, of
which he was compelled to take no fewer
than eleven studies.

No, it was not Lady Monica who captured
Clarence's heart, but a girl in a taxi whom he
met on his way to the station.

THE ROMANCE OF A BULB-SQUEEZER 243

It was in a traffic jam at the top of White-
hall that he first observed this girl. His cab
had become becalmed in a sea of omnibuses,
and, chancing to look to the right, he per-
ceived within a few feet of him another taxi,
which had been heading for Trafalgar Square.
There was a face at its window. It turned
towards him, and their eyes met.

To most men it would have seemed an
unattractive face. To Clarence, surfeited
with the coy, the beaming, and the dehcately-
chiselled, it was the most wonderful thing he
had ever looked at. All his life, he felt, he
had been searching for something on these
Unes. That snub nose — those freckles — that
breadth of cheek-bone — the squareness of
that chin. And not a dimple in sight. He
told me afterwards that his only feeUng at
first was one of incredulity. He had not
believed that the world contained women
hke this. And then the traffic jam loosened
up and he was carried away.

It was as he was passing the Houses of
Parliament that the reaUsation came to him
that the strange bubbly sensation that seemed
to start from just above the lower left side-
pocket of his waistcoat was not, as he had

244 MEET MR. MULLINER

at first supposed, dyspepsia, but love. Yes,
love had come at long last to Clarence
MuUiner ; and for all the good it was Ukely
to do him, he reflected bitterly, it might just
as well have been the dyspepsia for which
he had mistaken it. He loved a girl whom
he would probably never see again. He did
not know her name or where she hved or any-
thing about her. All he knew was that he
would cherish her image in his heart for
ever, and that the thought of going on with
the old dreary round of photographing lovely
women with coy yet roguish smiles was
almost more than he could bear.

However, custom is strong ; and a man
who has once allowed the bulb-squeezing
habit to get a grip of him cannot cast it off
in a moment. Next day Clarence was back
in his studio, diving into the velvet nose-bag
as of yore and telling peeresses to watch the
httle birdie just as if nothing had happened.
And if there was now a strange, haunting
look of pain in his eyes, nobody objected to
that. Indeed, inasmuch as the grief which
gnawed at his heart had the effect of deepen-
ing and mellowing his camera-side manner to
an almost sacerdotal unctuousness, his private

THE ROMANCE OF A BULB-SQUEEZER 245

sorrows actually helped his professional pres-
tige. Women told one another that being
photographed by Clarence Mulliner was like
undergoing some wonderful spiritual experi-
ence in a noble cathedral ; and his appoint-
ment-book became fuller than ever.

So great now was his reputation that to
anyone who had had the privilege of being
taken by him, either full face or in profile,
the doors of Society opened automatically.
It was whispered that his name was to appear
in the next Birthday Honours List ; and at
the annual banquet of the Amalgamated
Bulb-Squeezers, when Sir Godfrey Stooge,
the retiring President, in proposing his health,
concluded a glowingly eulogistic speech with
the words, " Gentlemen, I give you my
destined successor, MuUiner the Liberator ! "
five hundred frantic photographers almost
shivered the glasses on the table with their
applause.

And yet he was not happy. He had lost
the only girl he had ever loved, and without
her what was Fame ? What was Affluence ?
What were the Highest Honours in the
Land ?

These were the questions he was asking

246 MEET MR. MULLINER

himself one night as he sat in his Hbrary,
sombrely sipping a final whisky-and-soda
before retiring. He had asked them once
and was going to ask them again, when he
was interrupted by the sound of some one
ringing at the front-door bell.

He rose, surprised. It was late for callers.
The domestic staff had gone to bed, so he
went to the door and opened it. A shado\vy
figure was standing on the steps.

" Mr. Mulhner ? "

" I am Mr. MuUiner."

The man stepped past him into the hall.
And, as he did so, Clarence saw that he was
wearing over the upper half of his face a
black velvet mask.

" I must apologise for hiding my face,
Mr. Mulliner," the visitor said, as Clarence
led him to the library.

" Not at all," repUed Clarence, courte-
ously. " No doubt it is all for the best."

" Indeed ? " said the other, with a touch
of asperity. " If you really want to know,
I am probably as handsome a man as there is
in London. But my mission is one of such
extraordinary secrecy that I dare not run the
risk of being recognised." He paused, and

THE ROMANCE OF A BULB-SQUEEZER 247

Clarence saw his eyes glint through the holes
in the mask as he directed a rapid gaze into
each corner of the hbrary. " Mr. Mulhner,
have you any acquaintance with the ramifi-
cations of international secret politics ? "

" I have."

" And you are a patriot ? "
I am.

" Then I can speak freely. No doubt you
are aware, Mr. Mulhner, that for some time
past this country and a certain rival Power
have been competing for the friendship and
alliance of a certain other Power ? "

" No," said Clarence, " they didn't tell
me that."

" Such is the case. And the President
of this Power "

" Which one ? "

*' The second one."

" Call it B."

** The President of Power B. is now in
London. He arrived incognito, traveUing
under the assumed name of J. J. Shubert :
and the representatives of Power A., to the
best of our knowledge, are not yet aware of
his presence. This gives us just the few
hours necessary to chnch this treaty with

248 MEET MR. MULLINER

Power B. before Power A. can interfere. I
ought to tell you, Mr. Mulliner, that if Power
B. forms an alliance with this country, the
supremacy of the Anglo-Saxon race will be
secured for hundreds of years. Whereas if
Power A. gets hold of Power B., civihsation
will be thrown into the melting-pot. In the
eyes of all Europe — and when I say all Europe
I refer particularly to Powers C, D., and E.
— this nation would sink to the rank of a
fourth-class Power."

*' Call it Power F.," said Clarence.

" It rests with you, Mr. Mulliner, to save
England."

" Great Britain," corrected Clarence. He
was half Scotch on his mother's side. " But
how ? What can I do about it ? "

'' The position is this. The President of
Power B. has an overwhelming desire to have
his photograph taken by Clarence MuUiner.
Consent to take it, and our difficulties will be
at an end. Overcome with gratitude, he
will sign the treaty, and the Anglo-Saxon
race will be safe."

Clarence did not hesitate. Apart from
the natural gratification of feeling that he
was doing the Anglo-Saxon race a bit of

THE ROMANCE OF A BULB-SQUEEZER 249

good, business was business ; and if the
President took a dozen of the large size
finished in silver wash it would mean a nice
profit.

" I shall be dehghted," he said.

" Your patriotism," said the visitor, '' will
not go unrewarded. It will be gratefully
noted in the Very Highest Circles."

Clarence reached for his appointment-
book.

*' Now, let me see. Wednesday ? — No,
I'm fuU up Wednesday. Thursday ? — No.
Suppose the President looks in at my studio
between four and five on Friday ? "

The visitor uttered a gasp.

" Good heavens, Mr. MulUner," he ex-
claimed, " surely you do not imagine that,
with the vast issues at stake, these things can
be done openly and in dayhght ? If the
devils in the pay of Power A. were to learn
that the President intended to have his
photograph taken by you, I would not
give a straw for your chances of living an
hour."

" Then what do you suggest ? "

" You must accompany me now to the
President's suite at the Milan Hotel. We

250 MEET MR. MULLINER

shall travel in a closed car, and God send that
these fiends did not recognise me as I came
here. If they did, we shall never reach that
car aUve. Have you, by any chance, while
we have been talking, heard the hoot of an
owl ? "

" No," said Clarence. " No owls."

" Then perhaps they are nowhere near.
The fiends always imitate the hoot of an
owl."

" A thing," said Clarence, " which I
tried to do when I was a small boy and never
seemed able to manage. The popular idea
that owls say ' Tu-whit, tu-whoo ' is all
wrong. The actual noise they make is some-
thing far more difficult and complex, and it
was beyond me."

" Quite so." The visitor looked at his
watch. " However, absorbing as these remi-
niscences of your boyhood days are, time is
flying. Shall we be making a start ? "

" Certainly."

" Then foUow me."

It appeared to be holiday-time for fiends,
or else the night-shift had not yet come on,
for they reached the car without being
molested. Clarence stepped in, and his

THE ROMANCE OF A BULB-SQUEEZER 251

masked visitor, after a keen look up and down
the street, followed him.

" Talking of my boyhood " began

Clarence.

The sentence was never completed. A
soft wet pad was pressed over his nostrils :
the air became a-reek with the sickly fumes
of chloroform : and Clarence knew no more.

When he came to, he was no longer in the
car. He found himself lying on a bed in a
room in a strange house. It was a medium-
sized room with scarlet wall-paper, simply
furnished with a wash-hand stand, a chest of
drawers, two cane-bottomed chairs, and a
" God Bless Our Home " motto framed in
oak. He was conscious of a severe headache,
and was about to rise and make for the
water-bottle on the wash-stand when, to his
consternation, he discovered that his arms and
legs were shackled with stout cord.

As a family, the Mulliners have always
been noted for their reckless courage ; and
Clarence was no exception to the rule. But
for an instant his heart undeniably beat
a little faster. He saw now that his masked
visitor had tricked him. Instead of being

252 MEET MR. MULLINER

a representative of His Majesty's Diplomatic
Service (a most respectable class of men), he
had really been all along a fiend in the pay of
Power A.

No doubt he and his vile associates were
even now chuckhng at the ease with which
their victim had been duped. Clarence
gritted his teeth and struggled vainly to loose
the knots which secured his wrists. He had
fallen back exhausted when he heard the
sound of a key turning and the door opened.
Somebody crossed the room and stood by the
bed, looking dow^n on him.

The new-comer was a stout man with a
complexion that m.atched the wall-paper.
He was puffing slightly, as if he had found
the stairs trying. He had broad, slab-like
features ; and his face was spht in the
middle by a walrus moustache. Somewhere
and in some place, Clarence was convinced,
he had seen this man before.

And then it all came back to him. An
open window with a pleasant summer breeze
blowing in ; a stout man in a cocked hat
trying to chmb through this window ; and
he, Clarence, doing his best to help him
with the sharp end of a tripod. It was

THE ROMANCE OF A BULB-SQUEEZER 253

Jno. Horatio Biggs, the Mayor of Tooting
East.

A shudder of loathing ran through
Clarence.

" Traitor ! " he cried.

" Eh ? " said the Mayor.

" If anybody had told me that a son of
Tooting, nursed in the keen air of freedom
which blows across the Common, would sell
himself for gold to the enemies of his country,
I would never have believed it. Well, you
may tell your employers "

*' What employers ? "

''Power A."

" Oh, that ? " said the Mayor. " I am
afraid my secretary, whom I instructed to
bring you to this house, was obliged to
romance a Httle in order to ensure your
accompanying him, Mr. MuUiner. All that
about Power A. and Power B. was just his
httle joke. If you want to know why you
were brought here "

Clarence uttered a low groan.

" I have guessed your ghastly object,
you ghastly object," he said quietly. " You
want me to photograph you."

The Mayor shook his head.

254 MEET MR. MULLINER

" Not myself. I realise that that can
never be. My daughter."

" Your daughter ? "

" My daughter."

" Does she take after you ? "

" People tell me there is a resemblance."

" I refuse," said Clarence.

" Think well, Mr. MulUner."

" I have done all the thinking that is
necessary. England — or, rather. Great
Britain— looks to me to photograph only
her fairest and lovehest ; and though, as a
man, I admit that I loathe beautiful women,
as a photographer I have a duty to consider
that is higher than any personal feehngs.
History has yet to record an instance of a
photographer playing his country false, and
Clarence MuUiner is not the man to supply
the first one. I dechne your offer."

" I wasn't looking on it exactly as an
offer," said the Mayor, thoughtfully. " More
as a command, if you get my meaning."

" You imagine that you can bend a lens-
artist to your will and make him false to his
professional reputation ? "

" I was thinking of having a try."

" Do you realise that, if my incarcera-

THE ROMANCE OF A BULB-SQUEEZER 255

tion here were known, ten thousand photo-
graphers would tear this house brick from
brick and you Hmb from Hmb ? "

" But it isn't," the Mayor pointed out.
" And that, if you follow me, is the whole
point. You came here by night in a closed
car. You could stay here for the rest of your
life, and no one would be any the wiser. I
really think you had better reconsider, Mr.
Mulhner."

" You have had my answer."

" Well, I'll leave you to think it over.
Dinner will be served at seven-thirty. Don't
bother to dress."

At half-past seven precisely the door
opened again and the Mayor reappeared,
followed by a butler bearing on a silver salver
a glass of water and a small slice of bread.
Pride urged Clarence to reject the refresh-
ment, but hunger overcame pride. He swal-
lowed the bread which the butler offered
him in small bits in a spoon, and drank the
water.

" At what hour would the gentleman
desire breakfast, sir ? " asked the butler.

" Now," said Clarence, for his appetite,

256 MEET MR. MULLINER

always healthy, seemed to have been sharp-
ened by the trials which he had undergone.

" Let us say nine o'clock," suggested the
Mayor. " Put aside another shce of that
bread, Meadows. And no doubt Mr. Mulhner
would enjoy a glass of this excellent water."

For perhaps half an hour after his host
had left him, Clarence's mind was obsessed
to the exclusion of all other thoughts by a
vision of the dinner he would have hked
to be enjoying. All we Mulhners have been
good trenchermen, and to put a bit of bread
into it after it had been unoccupied for a
whole day was to offer to Clarence's stomach
an insult which it resented with an inde-
scribable bitterness. Clarence's only emo-
tion for some considerable time, then, was that
of hunger. His thoughts centred themselves
on food. And it was to this fact, oddly
enough, that he owed his release.

For, as he lay there in a sort of dehrium,
picturing himself getting outside a medium-
cooked steak smothered in onions, with
grilled tomatoes and floury potatoes on the
side, it was suddenly borne in upon him that
this steak did not taste quite so good as other

THE ROMANCE OF A BULB-SQUEEZER 257

steaks which he had eaten in the past. It was
tough and lacked juiciness. It tasted just
hke rope.

And then, his mind clearing, he saw that
it actually was rope. Carried away by the
anguish of hunger, he had been chewing the
cord which bound his hands ; and he now
discovered that he had bitten into it quite
deeply.

A sudden flood of hope poured over
Clarence Mulliner. Carrying on at this rate,
he perceived, he would be able ere long to
free himself. It only needed a Uttle imagina-
tion. After a brief interval to rest his aching
jaws, he put himself deUberately into that
state of relaxation which is recommended by
the apostles of Suggestion.

" I am entering the dining-room of my
club," murmured Clarence. " I am sitting
down. The waiter is handing me the bill
of fare. I have selected roast duck with green
peas and new potatoes, lamb cutlets with
Brussels sprouts, fricassee of chicken, porter-
house steak, boiled beef and carrots, leg of
mutton, haunch of mutton, mutton chops,
curried mutton, veal, kidneys saute, spaghetti
Caruso, and eggs and bacon, fried on both

258 MEET MR. MULLINER

sides. The waiter is now bringing my order.
I have taken up my knife and fork. I am
beginning to eat."

And, murmuring a brief grace, Clarence
flung himself on the rope and set to.

Twenty minutes later he was hobbling
about the room, restoring the circulation
to his cramped limbs.

Just as he had succeeded in getting
himself nicely Umbered up, he heard the key
turning in the door.

Clarence crouched for the spring. The
room was quite dark now, and he was glad of
it, for darkness well fitted the work which
lay before him. His plans, conceived on the
spur of the moment, were necessarily sketchy,
but they included jumping on the Mayor's
shoulders and pulling his head off. After
that, no doubt, other modes of self-expression
would suggest themselves.

The door opened. Clarence made his
leap. And he was just about to start on the
programme as arranged, when he discovered
with a shock of horror that this was no O.B.E.
that he was being rough with, but a woman.
And no photographer worthy of the name
will ever lay a hand upon a woman, save to

THE ROMANCE OF A BULB-SQUEEZER 259

raise her chin and tilt it a httle more to the
left.

" I beg your pardon ! " he cried.

" Don't mention it," said his visitor, in a
low voice. " I hope I didn't disturb you."

"Not at all," said Clarence.

There was a pause.

" Rotten weather," said Clarence, feehng
that it was for him, as the male member of
the sketch, to keep the conversation going.

" Yes, isn't it ? "

" A lot of rain we've had this summer."

" Yes. It seems to get worse every
year."

" Doesn't it ? "

" So bad for tennis."

" And cricket."

" And polo."

" And garden parties."

" I hate rain."

" So do I."

" Of course, we may have a fine August."

" Yes, there's always that."

The ice was broken, and the girl seemed to
become more at her ease.

" I came to let you out," she said. " I
must apologise for my father. He loves me

26o MEET MR. MULLINER

foolishly and has no scruples where my
happiness is concerned. He has always
yearned to have me photographed by you,
but I cannot consent to allow a photographer
to be coerced into abandoning his principles.
If you wiU follow me, I will let you out by
the front door."

'' It's awfully good of you," said Clarence,
awkwardly. As any man of nice sentiment
would have been, he was embarrassed. He
wished that he could have obHged this kind-
hearted girl by taking her picture, but a
natural dehcacy restrained him from touching
on this subject. They went down the stairs
in silence.

On the first landing a hand was placed
on his in the darkness and the girl's voice
whispered in his ear.

*' We are just outside father's study,"
he heard her say. " We must be as quiet as
mice."

" As what ? " said Clarence.

" Mice."

" Oh, rather," said Clarence, and imme-
diately bumped into what appeared to be a
pedestal of some sort.

These pedestals usually have vases on

THE ROMANCE OF A BULB-SQUEEZER 261

top of them, and it was revealed to Clarence
a moment later that this one was no excep-
tion. There was a noise hke ten simul-
taneous dinner-services coming apart in the
hands of ten simultaneous parlour-maids ;
and then the door was flung open, the landing
became flooded with hght, and the Mayor of
Tooting East stood before them. He was
carrying a revolver and his face was dark
with menace.

" Ha ! " said the Mayor.

But Clarence was paying no attention to
him. He was staring open-mouthed at the
girl. She had shrunk back against the wall,
and the Ught fell full upon her.

" You ! " cried Clarence.

" This " began the Mayor.

" You ! At last ! "

" This is a pretty "

" Am I dreaming ? "

" This is a pretty state of af "

" Ever since that day I saw you in the
cab I have been scouring London for you.
To think that I have found you at last ! "

" This is a pretty state of affairs," said the
Mayor, breathing on the barrel of his revolver
and pohshing it on the sleeve of his coat.

262 MEET MR. MULLINER

" My daughter helping the foe of her family
to fly "

" Flee, father," corrected the girl, faintly.

" Flea or fly — this is no time for argumg
about insects. Let me tell you "

Clarence interrupted him indignantly.

" What do you mean," he cried, " by
saying that she took after you ?

" She does."

" She does not. She is the loveliest girl
in the world, while you look like Lon Chaney
made up for something. See for yourself."
Clarence led them to the large mirror at the
head of the stairs. " Your face — if you can
call it that — is one of those beastly blobby
squashy sort of faces "

" Here ! " said the Mayor.

" whereas hers is simply divine.

Your eyes are bulbous and goofy "

" Hey ! " said the Mayor.

" — ^while hers are sweet and soft and
intelligent. Your ears "

" Yes, yes," said the Mayor, petulantly.
" Some other time, some other time. Then
am I to take it, Mr. MuUiner "

" Call me Clarence."

" I refuse to call you Clarence."

THE ROMANCE OF A BULB-SQUEEZER 263

" You will have to very shortly, when
I am your son-in-law."

The girl uttered a cry. The Mayor uttered
a louder cry.

" My son-in-law ! "

" That," said Clarence, firmly, " is what
I intend to be — and speedily." He turned to
the girl. " I am a man of volcanic passions,
and now that love has come to me there is
no power in heaven or earth that can keep me
from the object of my love. It will be my
never-ceasing task — er "

" Gladys," prompted the girl.

" Thank you. It will be my never-ceasing
task, Gladys, to strive daily to make you
return that love "

" You need not strive, Clarence," she
whispered, softly. " It is already returned."

Clarence reeled.

" Already ? " he gasped.

" I have loved you since I saw you in
that cab. When we were torn asunder, I
felt quite faint."

" So did I. I was in a daze. I tipped

my cabman at Waterloo three half-crowns.

I was aflame with love."

" I can hardly beUeve it."

I 2

264 MEET MR. MULLINER

"Nor could I, when I found out. I
thought it was threepence. And ever since
that day "

The Mayor coughed.

** Then am I to take it— er — Clarence,"
he said, *' that your objections to photograph-
ing my daughter are removed ? "

Clarence laughed happily.

" Listen," he said, " and I'll show you the
sort of son-in-law I am. Ruin my pro-
fessional reputation though it may, I will take
a photograph of you too ! "

" Me ! "

" Absolutely. Standing beside her with
the tips of your fingers on her shoulder.
And what's more, you can wear your cocked
hat."

Tears had begun to trickle down the
Mayor's cheeks.

" My boy ! " he sobbed, brokenly. " My
boy ! "

And so happiness came to Clarence
Mulliner at last. He never became President
of the Bulb-Squeezers, for he retired from
business the next day, declaring that the hand
that had snapped the shutter when taking

THE ROMANCE OF A BULB-SQUEEZER 265

the photograph of his dear wife should never
snap it again for sordid profit. The wedding,
which took place some six weeks later, was
attended by almost everybody of any note
in Society or on the Stage ; and was the
first occasion on which a bride and bride-
groom had ever walked out of church beneath
an arch of crossed tripods.

IX

HONEYSUCKLE COTTAGE

DO you believe in ghosts ? " asked Mr.
Mulliner abruptly.
I weighed the question thought-
fully. I was a httle surprised, for nothing
in our previous conversation had suggested
the topic.

" Well," I rephed, " I don't hke them,
if that's what you mean. I was once butted
by one as a child."

" Ghosts. Not goats."

" Oh, ghosts ? Do I beheve in ghosts ? "

" Exactly."

" WeU, yes— and no."

** Let me put it another way," said Mr.

Mulliner, patiently. " Do you beheve in

haunted houses ? Do you beheve that it is

possible for a malign influence to envelop

a place and work a spell on all who come

within its radius ? "

266

HONEYSUCKLE COTTAGE 267

I hesitated.

" Well, no — and yes."

Mr. Mulliner sighed a little. He seemed
to be wondering if I was always as bright as
this.

" Of course," I went on, " one has read
stories. Henry James's Turn of The
Screw . . ."

" I am not talking about fiction."

" Well, in real Hfe Well, look here, I

once, as a matter of fact, did meet a man
who knew a fellow ..."

" My distant cousin James Rodman spent
some weeks in a haunted house," said Mr.
Mulliner, who, if he has a fault, is not a very
good Hstener. " It cost him five thousand
pounds. That is to say, he sacrificed five
thousand pounds by not remaining there.
Did you ever," he asked, wandering, it
seemed to me, from the subject, " hear of
Leila J. Pinckney ?'

Naturally I had heard of Leila J. Pinck-
ney. Her death some years ago has dimi-
nished her vogue, but at one time it was
impossible to pass a book-shop or a railway
bookstall without seeing a long row of her
novels. I had never myself actually read

268 MEET MR. MULLINER

any of them, but I knew that in her particular
line of Hterature, the Squashily Sentimental,
she had always been regarded by those
entitled to judge as pre-eminent. The critics
usually headed their reviews of her stories
with the words : —

ANOTHER PINCKNEY

or sometimes, more offensively : —

ANOTHER PINCKNEY ! ! !

And once, dealing with, I think, The Love
Which Prevails, the Hterary expert of the
Scrutinizer had compressed his entire critique
into the single phrase " Oh, God ! "

" Of course," I said. " But what about
her ? '•

" She was James Rodman's aunt."

" Yes ? "

" And when she died James found that
she had left him five thousand pounds and
the house in the country where she had lived
for the last twenty years of her Hfe."

" A very nice Uttle legacy."

" Twenty years," repeated Mr. MuUiner.
" Grasp that, for it has a vital bearing on
what follows. Twenty years, mind you, and

HONEYSUCKLE COTTAGE 269

Miss Pinckney turned out two novels and
twelve short stories regularly every year,
besides a monthly page of Advice to Young
Girls in one of the magazines. That is to
say, forty of her novels and no fewer than
two hundred and forty of her short stories
were written under the roof of Honeysuckle
Cottage."

" A pretty name."

" A nasty, sloppy name," said Mr. Mulliner
severely, " which should have warned my
distant cousin James from the start. Have
you a pencil and a piece of paper ? " He
scribbled for awhile, poring frowningly over
columns of figures. " Yes," he said, looking
up, " if my calculations are correct, Leila
J. Pinckney wrote in all a matter of nine
miUion one hundred and forty thousand
words of glutinous sentimentality at Honey-
suckle Cottage, and it was a condition of her
will that James should reside there for six
months in every year. FaiHng to do this, he
was to forfeit the five thousand pounds."

"It must be great fun making a freak
will," I mused. " I often wish I was rich
enough to do it."

" This was not a freak will. The con-

270 MEET MR. MULLINER

ditions are perfectly understandable. James
Rodman was a writer of sensational mystery
stories, and his aunt Leila had always dis-
approved of his work. She was a great
beUever in the influence of environment, and
the reason why she inserted that clause in
her will was that she wished to compel James
to move from London to the country. She
considered that Uving in London hardened
him and made his outlook on Hfe sordid. She
often asked him if he thought it quite nice to
harp so much on sudden death and black-
mailers with squints. Surely, she said, there
were enough squinting blackmailers in the
world without writing about them.

"The fact that Literature meant such
different things to these two had, I beUeve,
caused something of a coolness between them,
and James had never dreamed that he would
be remembered in his aunt's will. For he
had never concealed his opinion that Leila
J. Pinckney's style of writing revolted him,
however dear it might be to her enormous
pubhc. He held rigid views on the art of
the novel, and always maintained that an
artist with a true reverence for his craft
should not descend to goo-ey love stories.

HONEYSUCKLE COTTAGE 271

but should stick austerely to revolvers, cries
in the night, missing papers, mysterious
Chinamen and dead bodies — with or without
gash in throat. And not even the thought
that his aunt had dandled him on her knee as
a baby could induce him to stifle his literary
conscience to the extent of pretending to
enjoy her work. First, last and all the time,
James Rodman had held the opinion — and
voiced it fearlessly — that Leila J. Pinckney
wrote bilge.

" It was a surprise to him, therefore, to
find that he had been left this legacy. A
pleasant surprise, of course. James was
making quite a decent income out of the
three novels and eighteen short stories which
he produced annually, but an author can
always find a use for five thousand pounds.
And, as for the cottage, he had actually been
looking about for a httle place in the country
at the very moment when he received the
lawyer's letter. In less than a week he was
installed at his new residence."

James's first impressions of Honeysuckle
Cottage were, he tells me, wholly favourable.
He was deUghted with the place. It was a

272 MEET MR. MULLINER

low, rambling, picturesque old house with
funny little chimneys and a red roof, placed
in the middle of the most charming country.
With its oak beams, its trim garden, its
trilling birds and its rose-hung porch, it was
the ideal spot for a writer. It was just the
sort of place, he reflected whimsically, which
his aunt had loved to write about in her
books. Even the apple-cheeked old house-
keeper who attended to his needs might
have stepped straight out of one of them.

It seemed to James that his lot had been
cast in pleasant places. He had brought
down his books, his pipes and his golf clubs,
and was hard at work finishing the best
thing he had ever done. The Secret Nine
was the title of it ; and on the beautiful
summer afternoon on which this story opens
he was in the study, hammering away at his
typewriter, at peace with the world. The
machine was running sweetly, the new tobacco
he had bought the day before was proving
admirable, and he was moving on all six
cylinders to the end of a chapter.

He shoved in a fresh sheet of paper,
chewed his pipe thoughtfully for a moment,
then wrote rapidly :

HONEYSUCKLE COTTAGE 273

" For an instant Lester Gage thought

that he must have been mistaken. Then

the noise came again, faint but unmistakable

— a soft scratching on the outer panel.

" His mouth set in a grim Une. Silently,
hke a panther, he made one quick step to
the desk', noiselessly opened a drawer, drew
out his automatic. After that affair of the
poisoned needle, he was taking no chances.
Still in dead silence, he tiptoed to the door ;
then, flinging it suddenly open, he stood
there, his weapon poised.

" On the mat stood the most beautiful
girl he had ever beheld. A veritable child
of Faerie. She eyed him for a moment
with a saucy smile ; then with a pretty,
roguish look of reproof shook a dainty fore-
finger at him.

" ' I beheve you've forgotten me, Mr.
Gage ! ' she fluted with a mock severity
which her eyes belied."

James stared at the paper dumbly. He
was utterly perplexed. He had not had the
shghtest intention of writing anything hke
this. To begin with, it was a rule with him,
and one which he never broke, to allow
no girls to appear in his stories. Sinister

274 MEET MR. MULLINER

landladies, yes, and naturally any amountof
adventuresses with foreign accents, but never
under any pretext what may be broadly
described as girls. A detective story, he
maintained, should have no heroine.
Heroines only held up the action and tried
to flirt with the hero when he should have
been busy looking for clues, and then went
and let the villain kidnap them by some
childishly simple trick. In his writing,
James was positively monastic.

And yet here was this creature with her
saucy smile and her dainty forefinger homing
in at the most important point in the story.
It was uncanny.

He looked once more at his scenario. No,
the scenario was all right.

In perfectly plain words it stated that
what happened when the door opened was
that a dying man fell in and after gasping,
" The beetle ! TeU Scotland Yard that the
blue beetle is " expired on the hearth-
rug, leaving Lester Gage not unnaturally
somewhat mystified. Nothing whatever
about any beautiful girls.

In a curious mood of irritation, James
scratched out the offending passage, wrote

HONEYSUCKLE COTTAGE 275

in the necessary corrections and put the
cover on the machine. It was at this point
that he heard WilUam whining.

The only blot on this paradise which
James had so far been able to discover was
the infernal dog, WiUiam. Belonging nomi-
nally to the gardener, on the very first
morning he had adopted James by acclama-
tion, and he maddened and infuriated James.
He had a habit of coming and whining under
the window when James was at work. The
latter would ignore this as long as he could ;
then, when the thing became insupportable,
would bound out of his chair, to see the
animal standing on the gravel, gazing expect-
antly up at him with a stone in his mouth.
WiUiam had a weak-minded passion for
chasing stones ; and on the first day James,
in a rash spirit of camaraderie, had flung
one for him. Since then James had thrown
no more stones ; but he had thrown any
number of other solids, and the garden
was Uttered with objects ranging from match
boxes to a plaster statuette of the young
Joseph prophesying before Pharaoh. And
still WilUam came and whined, an optimist
to the last.

276 MEET MR. MULLINER

The whining, coming now at a moment
when he felt irritable and unsettled, acted
on James much as the scratching on the
door had acted on Lester Gage. Silently,
hke a panther, he made one quick step to the
mantelpiece, removed from it a china mug
bearing the legend A Present From Clacton-
on-Sea, and crept to the window.

And as he did so a voice outside said,
" Go away, sir, go away ! " and there followed
a short, high-pitched bark which was cer-
tainly not William's. WilHam was a mixture
of Airedale, setter, bull terrier, and mastiff ;
and when in vocal mood, favoured the mastiff
side of his family.

James peered out. There on the porch
stood a girl in blue. She held in her arms a
small fluffy white dog, and she was endea-
vouring to foil the upward movement toward
this of the blackguard William. WilUam's
mentaUty had been arrested some years
before at the point where he imagined that
everything in the world had been created for
him to eat. A bone, a boot, a steak, the
back wheel of a bicycle — it was all one to
William. If it was there he tried to eat it.
He had even made a plucky attempt to devour

HONEYSUCKLE COTTAGE 277

the remains of the young Joseph prophesying
before Pharaoh. And it was perfectly plain
now that he regarded the curious wriggUng
object in the girl's arms purely in the light of
a snack to keep body and soul together till
dinner-time.

" WiUiam ! " bellowed James.

William looked courteously over his
shoulder with eyes that beamed with the
pure Ught of a hfe's devotion, wagged the
whiplike tail which he had inherited from his
bull-terrier ancestor and resumed his intent
scrutiny of the fluffy dog.

" Oh, please ! " cried the girl. " This
great rough dog is frightening poor To to,"

The man of letters and the man of action
do not always go hand in hand, but practice
had made James perfect in handUng with a
swift efficiency any situation that involved
WiUiam. A moment later that canine moron,
having received the present from Clacton in
the short ribs, was scutthng round the
comer of the house, and James had jumped
through the window and was facing the girl.

She was an extraordinarily pretty girl
Very sweet and fragile she looked as she stood
there under the honeysuckle with the breeze

278 MEET MR. MULLINER

ruffling a tendril of golden hair that strayed
from beneath her coquettish little hat. Her
eyes were very big and very blue, her rose-
tinted face becomingly flushed. All wasted
on James, though. He disUked all girls,
and particularly the sweet, droopy type.

" Did you want to see somebody ? " he
asked stiffly.

" Just the house," said the girl, "if it
wouldn't be giving any trouble. I do so
want to see the room where Miss Pincknev
wrote her books. This is where Leila J.
Pinckney used to live, isn't it ? "

" Yes ; I am her nephew. My name is
James Rodman."

" Mine is Rose Maynard."

James led the way into the house, and she
stopped with a cry of dehght on the threshold
of the morning room.

" Oh, how too perfect ! " she cried. " So
this was her study ? "

" Yes."

" What a wonderful place it would be
for you to think in if you were a writer too."

James held no high opinion of women's
literary taste, but nevertheless he was con-
scious of an unpleasant shock.

HONEYSUCKLE COTTAGE 279

" I am a writer," he said coldly. " I
write detective stories."

" I— I'm afraid "—she blushed—" I'm
afraid I don't often read detective stories."

" You no doubt prefer," said James, still
more coldly, " the sort of thing my aunt
used to write."

" Oh, I love her stories ! " cried the girl,
clasping her hands ecstatically. ' ' Don ' t you ? ' '

" I cannot say that I do."

" What ? "

" They are pure apple sauce," said James
sternly ; "just nasty blobs of sentimentahty,
thoroughly untrue to life."

The girl stared.

" Why, that's just what's so wonderful
about them, their trueness to Ufe ! You
feel they might all have happened. I don't
understand what you mean."

They were walking down the garden now.
James held the gate open for her and she
passed through into the road.

" Well, for one thing," he said, " I decHne
to believe that a marriage between two
young people is invariably preceded by some
violent and sensational experience in which
they both share."

28o MEET MR. MULLINER

" Are you thinking of Scent o' the Blossom,
where Edgar saves Maud from drowning ? "

" I am thinking of every single one of
my aunt's books/' He looked at her curi-
ously. He had just got the solution of a
mystery which had been puzzUng him for
some time. Almost from the moment he had
set eyes on her she had seemed somehow
strangely famiUar. It now suddenly came
to him why it was that he disliked her so
much. " Do you know," he said, " you
might be one of my aunt's heroines your-
self ? You're just the sort of girl she used
to love to write about."

Her face ht up.

" Oh, do you really think so ? " She
hesitated. " Do you know what I have been
feehng ever since I came here ? I've been
feeling that you are exactly like one of Miss
Pinckney's heroes."

" No, I say, reaUy ! " said James, revolted.

" Oh, but you are ! Wlien you jumped
through that window it gave me quite a
start. You were so exactly hke Claude
Masterson in Heather o' the Hills."

" I have not read Heather o' the Hills,"
said James, with a shudder.

HONEYSUCKLE COTTAGE 281

** He was very strong and quiet, with
deep, dark, sad eyes."

James did not explain that his eyes were
sad because her society gave him a pain in
the neck. He merely laughed scornfully.

" So now, I suppose," he said, " a car
will come and knock you down and I shall
carry you gently into the house and lay
you Look out ! " he cried.

It was too late. She was lying in a httle
huddled heap at his feet. Round the comer
a large automobile had come bowling, keep-
ing with an almost affected precision to the
wrong side of the road. It was now receding
into the distance, the occupant of the ton-
neau, a stout red-faced gentleman in a fur
coat, leaning out over the back. He had
bared his head — not, one fears, as a pretty
gesture of respect and regret, but because
he was using his hat to hide the number
plate.

The dog Toto was unfortunately un-
injured.

James carried the girl gently into the
house and laid her on the sofa in the morning-
room. He rang the bell and the apple-
cheeked housekeeper appeared.

282 MEET MR. MULLINER

" Send for the doctor," said James.
" There has been an accident."

The housekeeper bent over the girl.

" Eh, dearie, dearie ! " she said. " Bless
her sweet pretty face ! "

The gardener, he who technically owned
WiUiam, was routed out from among the
young lettuces and told to fetch Doctor
Brady. He separated his bicycle from Wil-
ham, who was making a hght meal off the
left pedal, and departed on his mission.
Doctor Brady arrived and in due course he
made his report.

" No bones broken, but a number of
nasty bruises. And, of course, the shock.
She wiU have to stay here for some time,
Rodman. Can't be moved."

" Stay here ! But she can't ! It isn't
proper."

" Your housekeeper will act as a chape-
ron."

The doctor sighed. He was a stohd-
looking man of middle age with side whiskers.

" A beautiful girl, that, Rodman," he
said.

" I suppose so," said James.

" A sweet, beautiful girl. An elfin child."

HONEYSUCKLE COTTAGE 283

" A what ? " cried James, starting.

This imagery was very foreign to Doctor
Brady as he knew him. On the only pre-
vious occasion on which they had had any
extended conversation, the doctor had talked
exclusively about the effect of too much
protein on the gastric juices.

" An elfin child ; a tender, fairy creature.
WTien I was looking at her just now, Rod-
man, I nearly broke down. Her Uttle hand
lay on the coverlet hke some white hly
floating on the surface of a still pool, and
her dear, trusting eyes gazed up at me."

He pottered off down the garden, still
babbling, and James stood staring after
him blankly. And slowly, like some cloud
athwart a summer sky, there crept over
James's heart the chill shadow of a nameless
fear.

It was about a week later that Mr. Andrew
McKinnon, the senior partner in the well-
known firm of Hterary agents, McKinnon &
Gooch, sat in his office in Chancery Lane,
frowning thoughtfully over a telegram. He
rang the bell.

" Ask Mr. Gooch to step in here." He

284 MEET MR. MULLINER

resumed his study of the telegram. " Oh,
Gooch," he said when his partner appeared,
" I've just had a curious wire from young
Rodman. He seems to want to see me very
urgently."

Mr. Gooch read the telegram.

" Written under the influence of some
strong mental excitement," he agreed. " I
wonder why he doesn't come to the office if
he wants to see you so badly."

" He's working very hard, finishing that
novel for Prodder & Wiggs. Can't leave it,
I suppose. Well, it's a nice day. If you will
look after things here I think I'll motor
down and let him give me lunch."

As Mr. McKinnon's car reached the cross-
roads a mile from Honeysuckle Cottage, he
was aware of a gesticulating figure by the
hedge. He stopped the car.

" Morning, Rodman."

*' Thank God, you've come ! " said James.
It seemed to Mr. McKinnon that the young
man looked paler and thinner. " Would you
mind walking the rest of the way ? There's
something I want to speak to you about."

Mr. McKinnon ahghted ; and James, as

HONEYSUCKLE COTTAGE 285

he glanced at him, felt cheered and encour-
aged by the very sight of the man. The
literary agent was a grim, hard-bitten person,
to whom, when he called at their offices to
arrange terms, editors kept their faces turned
so that they might at least retain their back
collar studs. There was no sentiment in
Andrew McKinnon. Editresses of society
papers practised their blandishments on him
in vain, and many a publisher had waked
screaming in the night, dreaming that he was
signing a McKinnon contract.

'' Well, Rodman,^' he said, " Prodder &
Wiggs have agreed to our terms. I was
writing to tell you so when your wire arrived.
I had a lot of trouble with them, but it's
fixed at 20 per cent., rising to 25, and two
hundred pounds advance royalties on day of
publication."

" Good ! " said James absently. " Good !
McKinnon, do you remember my aunt,
Leila J. Pinckney ? "

" Remember her ? Why, I was her agent
all her Hfe."

" Of course. Then you know the sort of
tripe she wrote."

" No author," said Mr. McKinnon re-

286 MEET MR. MULLINER

provingly, " who pulls down a steady twenty
thousand pounds a year writes tripe."

" Well anyway, you know her stuff."

" W^o better ? "

" W'Tien she died she left me five thousand
pounds and her house, Honej^suckle Cottage.
I'm hving there now. McKinnon, do you
believe in haunted houses ? "

"No."

" Yet I tell you solemnly that Honey-
suckle Cottage is haunted ! "

" By your aunt ? " said Mr. McKinnon,
surprised.

" By her influence. There's a malignant
spell over the place ; a sort of miasma of
sentimentalism. Everybody who enters it
succumbs."

" Tut-tut ! You mustn't have these
fancies."

" They aren't fancies."

" You aren't seriously meaning to tell
me

" Well, how do you account for this ?
That book you were speaking about, which
Prodder & Wiggs are to publish — The Secret
Nine. Every time I sit down to write it a
girl keeps trying to sneak in."

HONEYSUCKLE COTTAGE 287

" Into the room ?

" Into the story."

"You don't want a love interest in your
sort of book," said Mr. McKinnon, shaking
his head. " It delays the action."

" I know it does. And every day I have
to keep shooing this infernal female out.
An awful girl, McKinnon. A soppy, soupy,
treacly, drooping girl with a roguish smile.
This morning she tried to butt in on the
scene where Lester Gage is trapped in the
den of the mysterious leper."

"No! "

" She did, I assure you. I had to rewrite
three pages before I could get her out of it.
And that's not the worst. Do you know,
McKinnon, that at this moment I am actu-
ally hving the plot of a typical Leila May
Pinckney novel in just the setting she always
used ! And I can see the happy ending
coming nearer every day ! A week ago a
girl was knocked down by a car at my door
and I've had to put her up, and every day I
reahse more clearly that sooner or later I
shaU ask her to marry me."

" Don't do it," said Mr. McKinnon, a stout
bachelor. " You're too young to marry."

288 MEET MR. MULLINER

" So was Methuselah/' said James, a
stouter. " But all the same I know I'm
going to do it. It's the influence of this
awful house weighing upon me. I feel like
an eggshell in a maelstrom. I am being
sucked on by a force too strong for me to
resist. This morning I found myself kissing
her dog !

''No! "

"I did ! And I loathe the httle beast.
Yesterday I got up at dawn and plucked a
nosegay of flowers for her, wet with the dew."

" Rodman ! "

" It's a fact. I laid them at her door and
went downstairs kicking myself all the way.
And there in the hall was the apple-cheeked
housekeeper regarding me archly. If she
didn't murmur ' Bless their sweet young
hearts ! ' my ears deceived me."

" WTiy don't you pack up and leave ? "

" If I do I lose the five thousand pounds."

" Ah ! " said Mr. McKinnon.

" I can understand what has happened.
It's the same with all haunted houses. My
aunt's subhminal ether vibrations have woven
themselves into the texture of the place,
oreating an atmosphere which forces the

HONEYSUCKLE COTTAGE 289

ego of all who come in contact with it to
attune themselves to it. It's either that or
something to do with the fourth dimension."

Mr. McKinnon laughed scornfully.

" Tut-tut ! " he said again. " This is
pure imagination. What has happened is
that you've been working too hard. You'll
see this precious atmosphere of yours will
have no effect on me."

" That's exactly why I asked you to
come down. I hoped you might break the

spell."

'' I will that," said Mr. McKinnon jovially.

The fact that the hterary agent spoke
Httle at lunch caused James no apprehension.
Mr. McKinnon was ever a silent trencherman.
From time to time James caught him steahng
a glance at the girl, who was well enough to
come down to meals now, limping pathetic-
ally ; but he could read nothing in his face.
And yet the mere look of his face was a conso-
lation. It was so soUd, so matter of fact,
so exactly like an unemotional coconut.

" You've done me good," said James
with a sigh of reUef, as he escorted the agent
down the garden to his car after lunch.
" I felt all along that I could rely on your

290 MEET MR. MULLINER

rugged common sense. The whole atmo-
sphere of the place seems different now."

Mr. McKinnon did not speak for a moment.
He seemed to be plunged in thought.

" Rodman/' he said, as he got into his
car, " I've been thinking over that sugges-
tion of yours of putting a love interest into
The Secret Nine. I think you're wise. The
story needs it. After all, what is there
greater in the world than love ? Love-
love — aye, it's the sweetest word in the
language. Put in a heroine and let her
marry Lester Gage."

" If," said James grimly, " she does suc-
ceed in worming her way in she'U jolly well
marry the mysterious leper. But look here,
I don't understand "

"It was seeing that girl that changed
me," proceeded Mr. McKinnon. And as
James stared at him aghast, tears suddenly
filled his hard-boiled eyes. He openly
snuffled. " Aye, seeing her sitting there
under the roses, with all that smell of honey-
suckle and all. And the birdies singing so
sweet in the garden and the sun hghting up
her bonny face. The puir wee lass ! " he
muttered, dabbing at his eyes. " The puir

HONEYSUCKLE COTTAGE 291

bonny wee lass ! Rodman," he said, his
voice quivering, " I've decided that we're
being hard on Prodder & Wiggs. Wiggs has
had sickness in his home lately. We mustn't
be hard on a man who's had sickness in his
home, hey, laddie ? No, no ! I'm going to
take back that contract and alter it to a
flat 12 per cent, and no advance royalties."

" What ! "

" But you shan't lose by it, Rodman.
No, no, you shan't lose by it, my manny.
I am going to waive my commission. The
puir bonny wee lass ! "

The car rolled off down the road. Mr.
McKinnon, seated in the back, was blowing
his nose violently.

" This is the end ! " said James.

It is necessary at this point to pause and
examine James Rodman's position with an
unbiassed eye. The average man, unless he
puts himself in James's place, wlQ be unable
to appreciate it. James, he will feel, was
making a lot of fuss about nothing. Here he
was, drawing daily closer and closer to a
charming girl with big blue eyes, and surely
rather to be envied than pitied.

292 MEET MR. MULLINER

But we must remember that James was
one of Nature's bachelors. And no ordinary
man, looking forward dreamily to a little
home of his own with a loving wife putting
out his slippers and changing the gramophone
records, can reahse the intensity of the
instinct for self-preservation which animates
Nature's bachelors in times of peril.

James Rodman had a congenital horror
of matrimony. Though a young man, he
had allowed himself to develop a great
many habits which were as the breath of
hfe to him ; and these habits, he knew
instinctively, a wife would shoot to pieces
within a week of the end of the honeymoon.

James liked to breakfast in bed ; and,
having breakfasted, to smoke in bed and
knock the ashes out on the carpet. What
wife would tolerate this practice ?

James liked to pass his days in a tennis
shirt, gray flannel trousers and slippers.
What wife ever rests until she has inclosed
her husband in a stiff collar, tight boots
and a morning suit and taken him with her
to thes musicales ?

These and a thousand other thoughts of
the same kind flashed through the unfortu-

HONEYSUCKLE COTTAGE 293

nate young man's mind as the days went
by, and every day that passed seemed to
draw him nearer to the brink of the chasm.
Fate appeared to be taking a mahcious
pleasure in making things as difficult for
him as possible. Now that the girl was well
enough to leave her bed, she spent her time
sitting in a chair on the sun-sprinkled porch,
and James had to read to her — and poetry,
at that ; and not the jolly, wholesome
sort of poetry the boys are turning out
nowadays, either — good, honest stuff about
sin and gas works and decaying corpses —
but the old-fashioned kind with rhymes in it,
dealing almost exclusively with love. The
weather, moreover, continued superb. The
honeysuckle cast its sweet scent on the gentle
breeze ; the roses over the porch stirred and
nodded ; the flowers in the garden were
lovelier than ever ; the birds sang their Httle
throats sore. And every evening there was a
magnificent sunset. It was almost as if
Nature were doing it on purpose.

At last James intercepted Doctor Brady
as he was leaving after one of his visits and
put the thing to him squarely :

" When is that girl going ? "

294 MEET MR. MULLINER

The doctor patted him on the arm.

*' Not yet, Rodman," he said in a low,
understanding voice. " No need to worry
yourself about that. Mustn't be moved for
days and days and days — I might almost
say weeks and weeks and weeks."

" Weeks and weeks ! " cried James.

" And weeks," said Doctor Brady. He
prodded James roguishly in the abdomen.
" Good luck to you, my boy, good luck to
you," he said.

It was some small consolation to James
that the mushy physician immediately after-
ward tripped over WiUiam on his way down
the path and broke his stethoscope. When
a man is up against it like James every little
helps.

He was walking dismally back to the
house after this conversation when he was
met by the apple-cheeked housekeeper.

" The httle lady would hke to speak to
you, sir," said the apple-cheeked exliibit.
rubbing her hands.

" Would she ? " said James hollowly.

" So sweet and pretty she looks, sir — oh,
sir, you wouldn't beheve ! Like a blessed

HONEYSUCKLE COTTAGE 295

angel sitting there with her dear eyes all
a-shining."

" Don't do it ! " cried James with extra-
ordinary vehemence. " Don't do it ! "

He found the girl propped up on the
cushions and thought once again how singu-
larly he dishked her. And yet, even as he
thought this, some force against which he
had to fight madly was whispering to him,
"Go to her and take that httle hand !
Breathe into that httle ear the burning
words that will make that Uttle face turn
away crimsoned with blushes ! " He wiped
a bead of perspiration from his forehead and
sat down.

" Mrs. Stick-in-the-Mud — what's her
name ? — says you want to see me."

The girl nodded.

" I've had a letter from Uncle Henry. I
wrote to him as soon as I was better and
told him what had happened, and he is
coming here to-morrow morning."

" Uncle Henry ? "

" That's what I call him, but he's really
no relation. He is my guardian. He and
daddy were officers in the same regiment,
and when daddy was killed, fighting on the

K 2

296 MEET MR. MULLINER

Afghan frontier, he died in Uncle Henry's
arms and with his last breath begged him to
take care of me."

James started. A sudden wild hope had
waked in his heart. Years ago, he remem-
bered, he had read a book of his aunt's
entitled Rupert's Legacy, and in that book

"I'm engaged to marry him," said the
girl quietly.

" Wow ! " shouted James.

" What ? " asked the girl, startled.

" Touch of cramp," said James. He was
thrilling all over. That wild hope had been
realised.

" It was daddy's dying wish that we
should marry," said the girl.

** And dashed sensible of him, too ; dashed
sensible," said James warmly.

" And yet," she went on, a httle wist-
fully, " I sometimes wonder "

" Don't ! " said James. " Don't ! You
must respect daddy's dying wish. There's
nothing like daddy's dying wish ; you can't
beat it. So he's coming here to-morrow, is
he ? Capital, capital ! To lunch, I sup-
pose ? Excellent ! I'll run down and tell
Mrs. Who-Is-It to lay in another chop."

HONEYSUCKLE COTTAGE 297

It was with a gay and uplifted heart that
James strolled the garden and smoked his
pipe next morning. A great cloud seemed
to have rolled itself away from him. Every-
thing was for the best in the best of all
possible worlds. He had finished The Secret
Nine and shipped it off to Mr. McKinnon,
and now as he strolled there was shaping
itself in his mind a corking plot about a man
with only half a face who lived in a secret
den and terrorised London with a series of
shocking murders. And what made them
so shocking was the fact that each of the
victims, when discovered, was found to
have only half a face too. The rest had
been chipped off, presumably by some blunt
instrument.

The thing was coming out magnificently,
when suddenly his attention was diverted
by a piercing scream. Out of the bushes
fringing the river that ran beside the garden
burst the apple-cheeked housekeeper.

" Oh, sir ! Oh, sir ! Oh, sir ! "

" What is it ? " demanded James irri-
tably.

" Oh, sir ! Oh, sir ! Oh, sir ! ''

" Yes, and then what ?

298 MEET MR. MULLINER

" The little dog, sir ! He's in the river ! "

" Well, whistle him to come out."

" Oh, sir, do come quick ! He'U be
drowned ! "

James followed her through the bushes,
taking off his coat as he went. He was say-
ing to himself, " I will not rescue this dog.
I do not hke the dog. It is high time he had
a bath, and in any case it would be much
simpler to stand on the bank and fish for
him with a rake. Only an ass out of a
Leila J. Pinckney book would dive into
a beastly river to save "

At this point he dived. Toto, alarmed
by the splash, swam rapidly for the bank,
but James was too quick for him. Grasping
him firmly by the neck, he scrambled ashore
and ran for the house, followed by the house-
keeper.

The girl was seated on the porch. Over
her there bent the taU soldierly figure of a
man with keen eyes and graying hair. The
housekeeper raced up.

" Oh, miss ! Toto ! In the river ! He
saved him ! He plunged in and saved him ! ' '

The girl drew a quick breath.

" Gallant, damme ! By Jove ! By gad !

HONEYSUCKLE COTTAGE 299

Yes, gallant, by George ! " exclaimed the
soldierly man.

The girl seemed to wake from a reverie.

" Uncle Henry, this is Mr. Rodman.
Mr. Rodman, my guardian, Colonel Carteret."

" Proud to meet you, sir," said the colonel,
his honest blue eyes glowing as he fingered
his short crisp moustache. " As fine a thing
as I ever heard of, damme ! "

" Yes, you are brave— brave, " the girl
whispered.

" I am wet — wet," said James, and went
upstairs to change his clothes.

When he came down for lunch, he foimd
to his relief that the girl had decided not to
join them, and Colonel Carteret was silent
and preoccupied. James, exerting himself
in his capacity of host, tried him with the
weather, golf, India, the Government, the
high cost of living, first-class cricket, the
modem dancing craze, and murderers he had
met, but the other still preserved that strange,
absent-minded silence. It was only when the
meal was concluded and James had produced
cigarettes that he came abruptly out of his
trance.

300 MEET MR. MULLINER

" Rodman," he said, " I should like to
speak to you."

" Yes ? " said James, thinking it was
about time.

" Rodman," said Colonel Carteret, " or
rather, George — I may call you George ? "
he added, with a sort of wistful dif&dence
that had a singular charm.

" Certainly," replied James, " if you wish
it. Though my name is James."

" James, eh ? Well, well, it amounts to
the same thing, eh, what, damme, by gad ? "
said the colonel with a momentary return
of his bluff soldierly manner. " Well, then,
James, I have something that I wish to say
to you. Did Miss Maynard — did Rose happen
to tell you anything about myself in — er — in
connection with herself ? "

" She mentioned that you and she were
engaged to be married."

The colonel's tightly drawn lips quivered.

" No longer," he said.

" What ? "

" No, John, my boy."

" James."

" No, James, my boy, no longer. WTiile
you were upstairs changing your clothes she

HONEYSUCKLE COTTAGE 301

told me — breaking down, poor child, as she
spoke — that she wished our engagement to
be at an end."

James half rose from the table, his cheeks
blanched.

" You don't mean that ! " he gasped.

Colonel Carteret nodded. He was staring
out of the window, his fine eyes set in a
look of pain.

" But this is nonsense ! " cried James.
" This is absurd ! She — she mustn't be al-
lowed to chop and change like this. I mean
to say, it — it isn't fair "

" Don't think of me, my boy."

"I'm not — I mean, did she give any
reason ? "

" Her eyes did."

" Her eyes did ? "

" Her eyes, when she looked at you on
the porch, as you stood there — young, heroic
— having just saved the hfe of the dog she
loves. It is you who have won that tender
heart, my boy."

" Now listen," protested James, " you
aren't going to sit there and tell me that a
girl falls in love with a man just because he
saves her dog from drowning ? "

302 MEET MR. MULLINER

" Why, surely," said Colonel Carteret
surprised. " \Miat better reason could she
have ? " He sighed. " It is the old, old
story, my boy. Youth to youth. I am an
old man. I should have known — I should
have foreseen — yes, youth to youth."

" You aren't a bit old."

" Yes, yes."

" No, no."

" Yes, yes."

" Don't keep on saying yes, yes ! " cried
James, clutching at his hair. " Besides,
she wants a steady old buffer — a steady,
sensible man of medium age — to look after
her."

Colonel Carteret shook his head with a
gentle smile.

" This is mere quixotry, my boy. It is
splendid of you to take this attitude ; but
no, no."

les, yes.

" No, no." He gripped James's hand for
an instant, then rose and walked to the
door. " That is aU I wished to say, Tom."

" James."

" James. I just thought that you ought
to know how matters stood. Go to her, my

HONEYSUCKLE COTTAGE 303

boy, go to her, and don't let any thought of
an old man's broken dream keep you from
pouring out what is in your heart. I am an
old soldier, lad, an old soldier. I have
learned to take the rough with the smooth.
But I think — I think I will leave you now.
I — I should— should like to be alone for a
while. If you need me you will find me in
the raspberry bushes."

He had scarcely gone when James also
left the room. He took his hat and stick
and walked blindly out of the garden, he
knew not whither. His brain was numbed.
Then, as his powers of reasoning returned,
he told himself that he should have fore-
seen this ghastly thing. If there was one
type of character over which Leila J. Pinckney
had been wont to spread herself, it was the
pathetic guardian who loves his ward but
rehnquishes her to the younger man. No
wonder the girl had broken off the engage-
ment. Any elderly guardian who allowed
himself to come within a mile of Honeysuckle
Cottage was simply asking for it. And
then, as he turned to walk back, a sort of duU
defiance gripped James. Why, he asked,
should he be put upon in this manner ? If

304 MEET MR. MULLINER

the girl liked to throw over this man, why
should he be the goat ?

He saw his way clearly now. He just
wouldn't do it, that was all. And if they
didn't hke it they could lump it.

Full of a new fortitude, he strode in at the
gate. A tall, soldierly figure emerged from
the raspberry bushes and came to meet him.

" Well ? " said Colonel Carteret.

" Well ? " said James defiantly.

" Am I to congratulate you ? "

James caught his keen blue eye and hesi-
tated. It was not going to be so simple as
he had supposed.

" Well-^r " he said.

Into the keen blue eyes there came a look
that James had not seen there before. It
was the stem, hard look which — probably —
had caused men to bestow upon this old
soldier the name of Cold-Steel Carteret.

" You have not asked Rose to marry
you?

" Er — no ; not yet."

The keen blue eyes grew keener and
bluer.

" Rodman," said Colonel Carteret in a
strange, quiet voice, " I have known that

HONEYSUCKLE COTTAGE 305

little girl since she was a tiny child. For
years she has been all in all to me. Her
father died in my arms and with his last
breath bade me see that no harm came to
his darling. I have nursed her through
mumps, measles — aye, and chicken pox —
and I live but for her happiness." He
paused, with a significance that made James's
toes curl. " Rodman," he said, " do you
know what I would do to any man who
trifled with that httle girl's affections ? "
He reached in his hip pocket and an ugly-
looking revolver glittered in the sunhght.
" I would shoot him like a dog."
" Like a dog ? " faltered James.
" Like a dog," said Colonel Carteret. He
took James's arm and turned him toward
the house. " She is on the porch. Go to

her. And if " He broke off. "But

tut ! " he said in a kindher tone. " I am
doing you an injustice, my boy. I know it."
" Oh, you are," said James fervently.
" Your heart is in the right place."
" Oh, absolutely," said James."
" Then go to her, my boy. Later on you
may have something to tell me. You will
find me in the strawberry beds."

3o6 MEET MR. MULLINER

It was very cool and fragrant on the
porch. Overhead, Uttle breezes played and
laughed among the roses. Somewhere in
the distance sheep bells tinkled, and in the
shrubbery a thrush was singing its even-
song.

Seated in her chair behind a wicker
table laden with tea things. Rose Maynard
watched James as he shambled up the path.

" Tea's ready," she called gaily. " Where
is Uncle Henry } " A look of pity and dis-
tress flitted for a moment over her flower-
Hke face. " Oh, I— I forgot," she whispered.
"He is in the strawberry beds," said
James in a low voice.

She nodded unhappily.
" Of course, of course. Oh, why is Ufe
Hke this ? " James heard her whisper.

He sat down. He looked at the girl.
She was leaning back with closed eyes, and
he thought he had never seen such a little
squirt in his Hfe. The idea of passing his
remaining days in her society revolted him.
He was stoutly opposed to the idea of marry-
ing anyone ; but if, as happens to the best
of us, he ever were compelled to perform the
wedding ghde, he had always hoped it would

HONEYSUCKLE COTTAGE 307

be with some lady golf champion who would
help him with his putting, and thus, by
bringing his handicap down a notch or two,
enable him to save something from the wreck,
so to speak. But to Unk his lot with a girl
who read his aunt's books and hked them ;
a girl who could tolerate the presence of the
dog Toto ; a girl who clasped her hands in
pretty, childish joy when she saw a nasturtium
in bloom — it was too much. Nevertheless,
he took her hand and began to speak.

" Miss Maynard — Rose "

She opened her eyes and cast them down.
A flush had come into her cheeks. The dog
Toto at her side sat up and begged for cake,
disregarded.

" Let me tell you a story. Once upon a
time there was a lonely man who lived in a
cottage all by himself "

He stopped. Was it James Rodman who
was talking this bilge ?

" Yes ? " whispered the girl.

" but one day there came to him out

of nowhere a httle fairy princess. She "

He stopped again, but this time not be-
cause of the sheer shame of listening to his
own voice. WTiat caused him to interrupt

3o8 MEET MR. MULLINER

his tale was the fact that at this moment
the tea table suddenly began to rise slowly
in the air, tilting as it did so a considerable
quantity of hot tea on to the knees of his
trousers.

** Ouch ! " cried James, leaping.

The table continued to rise, and then
fell sideways, reveaUng the homely counte-
nance of William, who, concealed by the
cloth, had been taking a nap beneath it.
He moved slowly forward, his eyes on Toto.
For many a long day William had been de-
sirous of putting to the test, once and for
all, the problem of whether Toto was edible
or not. Sometimes he thought yes, at other
times no. Now seemed an admirable oppor-
tunity for a definite decision. He advanced
on the object of his experiment, making a
low whistling noise through his nostrils, not
unhke a boiHng kettle. And Toto, after one
long look of incredulous horror, tucked his
shapely tail between his legs and, turning,
raced for safety. He had laid a course in a
bee line for the open garden gate, and Wilham,
shaking a dish of marmalade off his head a
Uttle petulantly, galloped ponderously after
him. Rose Maynard staggered to her feet.

HONEYSUCKLE COTTAGE 309

" Oh, save him ! " she cried.

Without a word James added himself to
the procession. His interest in Toto was
but tepid. What he wanted was to get near
enough to WiUiam to discuss with him that
matter of the tea on his trousers. He
reached the road and found that the order of
the runners had not changed. For so small
a dog, Toto was moving magnificently. A
cloud of dust rose as he skidded round the
comer. WiUiam followed. James followed
WiUiam.

And so they passed Farmer Birkett's
bam. Farmer Giles' cow shed, the place
where Farmer Willetts' pigsty used to be
before the big fire, and the Bunch of Grapes
pubhc house, Jno. Biggs propr., hcensed to
seU tobacco, wines and spirits. And it was
as they were turning down the lane that
leads past Farmer Robinson's chicken run
that Toto, thinking swiftly, bolted abruptly
into a small drain pipe.

" WiUiam ! " roared James, coming up at
a canter. He stopped to pluck a branch
from the hedge and swooped darkly on.

W^iUiam had been crouching before the
pipe, making a noise like a bassoon into its

310 MEET MR. MULLINER

interior ; but now he rose and came beam-
ingly to James. His eyes were aglow with
chumminess and affection ; and placing his
forefeet on James's chest, he licked him three
times on the face in rapid succession. And
as he did so, something seemed to snap in
James. The scales seemed to fall from
James's eyes. For the first time he saw
WilUam as he really was, the authentic
type of dog that saves his master from a
frightful peril. A wave of emotion swept
over him.

" WiUiam ! " he muttered. " WiUiam ! "

WiUiam was making an early supper off
a half brick he had found in the road. James
stooped and patted him fondly.

" WiUiam," he whispered, " you knew
when the time had come to change the con-
versation, didn't you, old boy ! " He
straightened himself. " Come, WiUiam," he
said. " Another four mUes and we reach
Meadowsweet Junction. Make it snappy and
we shall just catch the up express, first stop
London."

WiUiam looked up into his face and it
seemed to James that he gave a brief nod
of comprehension and approval. James

HONEYSUCKLE COTTAGE 311

turned. Through the trees to the east he
could see the red roof of Honeysuckle Cottage,
lurking like some evil dragon in ambush.

Then, together, man and dog passed
silently into the sunset.

That (concluded Mr. MuUiner) is the story
of my distant cousin James Rodman. As to
whether it is true, that, of course, is an open
question. I, personally, am of opinion that
it is. There is no doubt that James did go
to live at Honeysuckle Cottage and, while
there, underwent some experience which has
left an ineradicable mark upon him. His
eyes to-day have that unmistakable look
which is to be seen only in the eyes of con-
firmed bachelors whose feet have been dragged
to the very brink of the pit and who have
gazed at close range into the naked face of
matrimony.

And, if further proof be needed, there is
William. He is now James's inseparable
companion. Would any man be habitually
seen in public with a dog Uke William unless
he had some soHd cause to be grateful to
him, — unless they were hnked together by
some deep and imperishable memory ? I
think not. Myself, when I observe William

312 MEET MR. MULLINER

coining along the street, I cross the road and
look into a shop window till he has passed.
I am not a snob, but I dare not risk my
position in Society by being seen talking to
that curious compound.

Nor is the precaution an unnecessary one.
There is about William a shameless absence
of appreciation of class distinctions which
recalls the worst excesses of the French
Revolution. I have seen him with these
eyes chivvy a pomeranian belonging to a
Baroness in her own right from near the
Achilles Statue to within a few yards of the
Marble Arch.

And yet James walks daily with him. in
Piccadilly. It is surely significant.

THE END

BOOKS OF LAUGHTER

BY

P. G. WODEHOUSE

Mr, Wodehouse is a national humourist." — Manchester Guardian.

PICCADILLY JIM

The adventures of Piccadilly Jim, the young American, wfco is intent on
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A DAMSEL IN DISTRESS

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MORE NOVELS

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p. G. WODEHOUSE

8

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10

11

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13

LOVE AMONG THE CHICKENS

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the birds get roup, Uscridjfe gets the pip, the eggs don't come, and
Garnet's love affair doesn't prosper. It is only the reader who can
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UKRIDGE

Ukridge is always on the verge of making a fortune, but Dame Fortune
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2 6 net

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LEAVE IT TO PSMITH

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CARRY ON, JEEVES

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Ferdinand Dibble should have been a compe-
tent golfer — but he was a goof. That he loved
Barbara Medway was beyond a doubt; but he
hadn't the nerve to ask her to marry him. Every
time he felt he had mustered up enough pep to
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MEET MR. MULLINER

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By F. E. FARNCOMBE and R. L. HADFIELD,

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A thrilling adventure story in which the authors
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THE FAMILY WITCH

By a. B. COX, Author of Brenda Entertains.

A book of sheer laughter, dealing with the love-
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BINDLE

Some chapters In the Life of Joseph Blndle. Of the popular
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ADVENTURES OF BINDLE

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THE BINDLES ON THE ROCKS

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